In Every Possible Universe
by writergirl8
Summary: When he's off, chattering a mile a minute about something that makes Hermione's heart ache with familiarity, she thinks that she could spend a lifetime with this phone pressed to her ear as long as Ron Weasley is on the other end of the line.


They meet for the first time on the way to school, and Hermione feels like her world has changed.

He has a smudge of dirt on his nose, and even though she has just met him, she finds herself endeared to the way it slopes sharply down. She sits next to him and hugs a book tightly to her chest and tries to ignore the way he's fiddling awkwardly with the fraying hem on his shirt. She likes the freckles that scatter across his cheeks and she likes the way he tucks his elbows close to his side, scared to touch her. Even though he obviously feels awkward around her, Hermione likes that, too. Because she feels awkward around him.

She is eleven years old and she has come to this school from an all-girls school and when she looks at boys, she feels panic fill her stomach. But there's something that _tugs_ her towards him; it originates at the bottom of her naval, hooking around her bellybutton and pulling her closer into him.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says, her voice too loud even to her own ears. Hermione winces- she hadn't wanted this to be just like it had been at her old school. She'd wanted things to be different here. Carefully, Hermione lowers her voice. "And you are?"

His eyes widen slightly, and they're the most vivid, neon blue that Hermione has ever seen. They don't remind her of the sky; they remind her of the earrings that her father got her mother for their anniversary three years ago. They remind Hermione of the little pebbles at the bottom of her grandmother's fishtank. They remind her of old phone booths and pretty bluebirds and the softly glowing lights that her father purposefully wraps around their Christmas tree each year.

"Ron," the boy stutters. "Ron Weasley."

He's got a high voice, but there's something familiar about it, too. Hermione finds herself wanting to wrap herself up in the warmth of this young boy. She wants to be friends with him. She doesn't want to ruin the way he's looking at her, an endearing mixture of dread and hope.

By the time the bus has pulled up to the school building, Hermione has already settled on a gangly, freckled boy as her best friend.

* * *

They settle into friendship with great ease, magnet to steel. It helps that their teacher places them in seats next to each other. For the first week of school, Hermione spends most of her time staring at her desk, where she's usually got a book placed on the dark wood. She catches Ron staring at her at the most random of times, usually chewing on his bottom lip. But Hermione is just brave enough to smile at him- or maybe she's smiling at the way his light eyelashes frame his eyes- and Ron seems to take this as encouragement.

He eats lunch with her a few times during the first week, pretending that he's doing her a favor. They don't talk much, but after the first few times, Hermione catches Ron staring at her when he's sitting with the other boys from their class. By the time week two of school hits, he's next to her every day, talking with his hands in the air, waving ham sandwiches on white bread. Each day, they become more and more talkative. One day, when Ron is telling a story about his uncles, he reaches out to shake his milk bottle, forgetting that he has already opened it. Milk flies from the open lid, hits the ceiling, and sails right back down to them, plopping back down on the table.

The canteen is silent.

A few seconds later, food begins flying. Hermione and Ron stare at each other in shock, not sure what to do. After a moment, both of them start laughing. They don't stop until they have been assigned two week's detention together.

But there are some things that you can't go through without becoming friends, and beginning a food fight is definitely one of them.

* * *

The phone rings at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Hermione is sitting cross-legged in the living room, quietly rereading _Alice in Wonderland._ She's always liked the idea of fairy tales. But she'd also rather them stay in novels, which she thinks is unusual for girls her age. Her mother used to try to throw her parties to get her to dress up like a princess, but Hermione never liked those. Most of the time, she hadn't even liked the girls that her mother invited to the parties, much less the idea of wearing a crown. Now, she doesn't want princess parties at all- mostly because she's relatively certain that Ron would never attend, and now that Hermione knows what it feels like to have an actual friend, she's never throwing a party without him again.

"Hermione, dear?"

Only after she gently places a bookmark in _Alice _does Hermione look expectantly up at her mother.

"Yes?"

"There's a phone call for you, dear."

Her eyebrows rise in surprise.

"For me?"

"Yes, dear."

For many years, Hermione has looked up at her mother's perfectly styled hair, bright red lipstick, and the clean, ruffled aprons that she wears. But ever since she saw Ron's slightly unkempt mother picking him up from school, she can't help but wonder if there are different ways a woman can be. Still, when she lifts the corded phone from her mother's manicured fingertips, she can't help but find comfort in the flawlessness of the entire ensemble.

"Hello?" Hermione says into the receiver, voice questioning.

She hears him clearing his throat, and that's when her breath catches in her throat.

"Uhm. Hi."

Ron's voice is soft over the phone, unlike his loud vibrancy in person. She presses the phone harder to her ear, ignoring the way the movement tugs uncomfortably at a few strands of her bushy hair.

"Hi," she says again, and this time she's giggling as she straightens her soft grey skirt across her knees. As she waits for Ron to speak again, Hermione twists her fingers in the short, thick hair that tickles her cheeks. One day, she wants to be able to rake her fingers through it without meeting any obstacles. Today is not that day.

"I… I was wondering if you had the maths assignment?"

Hermione tilts her head to the side.

"We finished it in school, remember?"

"Right," Ron replies, sounding like he wants to melt into the ground. "So… er… a... how are you, then?"

"I'm alright," says Hermione, trying not to laugh. She knows he didn't call for the maths assignment. "How are you?"

"Brilliant!"

He sounds too enthusiastic. Hermione adores him for it. She decides to save him.

"Did you hear that Mrs. Perry might have threatened to give us _two _exams if the average on our last test isn't high enough?"

Ron actually gasps out loud, which makes Hermione feel a little bit better about lying.

"She did?"

"Mhm!" Hermione nods emphatically, then remembers that he can't see her. "How do you think you did?"

When he's off, chattering a mile a minute about something that makes Hermione's heart ache with familiarity, she thinks that she could spend a lifetime with this phone pressed to her ear as long as Ron Weasley is on the other end of the line.

* * *

In true Mrs. Granger fashion, Hermione's mother decides that it would be nice to invite her entire class to her birthday.

"But _mum_," Hermione protests, tugging exasperatedly on the fabric at the shoulder of her mother's dress when she doesn't respond fast enough. Her mother pointedly puts down the spatula that she is holding, then places her hands on her waistline and peers down at Hermione. "I really just want to spend the day with Ron."

"Ron? That funny, freckled boy from your class?"

Hermione is defensive immediately.

"I like his freckles."

"Why not spend the day with Charlotte? Or Virginia?"

"Because I'm not _friends _with them," says Hermione petulantly. Her mother almost balks at the loud, harshness of Hermione's voice. Neither of them are used to her speaking this way, especially not with parents.

"What if we had some of your friends over earlier in the day and then a little party for you and Ron?"

"I just want Ron," Hermione says, stamping a foot. Her mother's eyes widen. "Please," she adds, hoping to soften the blow. "He's my best friend, mum."

"You barely know him, dear," says her mother, turning back to the stove after a brief adjustment of her bun. It occurs to Hermione how oddly her mother dresses. It's the 90s, after all. Nobody really wears aprons anymore, or fixes their hair into buns like her mother does. Hermione's mother is _nothing _like the other mothers. "Are you sure he's your best friend?"

"He's my only friend," Hermione says truthfully. "And he's more than enough for my birthday, thank you very much."

Two weeks later, when the doorbell rings on Hermione's birthday, she opens up her large, wooden front door to see Ron Weasley standing there. His hair is combed back, and he looks horrified as his mother ushers him noisily into Hermione's house, straightening his clothes and trying to smooth over the wool that is falling apart at his rough elbows. Hermione just smiles at him, and he smiles strangely at her, and when she sees the carefully wrapped book in his hand, she knows that she's made the right friend.

"I got a _ninety-eight_."

Ron glances up from the worksheet that he is doing long enough to tug Hermione's paper bag from her fingertips and begin rooting through the contents.

"On what?"

"On the history test!"

"And this is a problem?"

"What do you think?" Hermione demands, plopping down into the chair next to him.

"I think that it is a problem because you're starting to sound panicked."

"Oh, how very astute you are," she snaps. "Ron, I got a _ninety-eight _percent."

"Well, that's two points off of one-hundred. Brilliant!"

"No," says Hermione, slapping his hand away from her crackers. "That is not brilliant. I should have gotten a one-hundred, but Mrs. Perry gave me a ninety-eight because she couldn't read the 'e' that I wrote. It was multiple choice, Ron! What other answer could I have given but 'e' if the rest of my test was correct? Have I made up an entirely new letter for the phoenician alphabet? Is that it?" He stares at her, pulling a carrot from Hermione's bag despite her protests and popping it into his mouth so that he can chew. "Well? Don't you have anything to say?" Hermione asks shrilly.

"Erm… congrats on the high mark?"

"Gah!" Hermione shouts, causing a few of the people in their class to turn and stare at her. Most of the kids are at break, but a few remained in the classroom to complete work from their lesson earlier that day. Hermione offers these people obligatory smiles before turning back to Ron and twisting her mouth into a grimace. "You know nothing about talking to fellow human beings, do you?"

He throws his hands defensively into the air, his long nose going with them.

"Hey, don't take out your failure on me!"

Hermione's mouth falls open.

"What? I'm not! I'm _venting_."

"If this is venting, I'd rather have an electric heater, thank you very much."

"Hardee har har."

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" Ron asks, his voice gentle as he offers her a carrot from his lunch bag. Hermione munches on it, revelling in the crackly sound of her own chewing.

"I would like you to give me some platitudes or pieces of advice."

"Hmm." Ron sits back in his chair, stroking his chin. "My advice would be… stop staying up all night on the phone with some sod from your class and start practicing your handwriting."

"I have _perfect _handwriting."

"Not according to Mrs. Perry," he sing-songs. Hermione scrunches up her nose, crosses her arms, and pouts.

"Next time I want advice, I'm asking my mum."

"Yeah, next time you want to vent you can go to her, too."

"Ron!"

"Kidding! Jeez, Hermione."

She wrinkles her nose before slapping her quiet reading book onto her desk.

"Have you read this one yet?" she asks, nodding her head towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room. "We have reading time next."

"No," Ron says, turning it over to scrutinize the back. "Is it good?"

"You'd like it, I think," enthuses Hermione, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She watches as Ron catches them with his own, and for a moment, she allows herself to drown in sapphire blue. "There's another copy over there if you want it."

"Sure," he grins, pushing his chair out. "But if I read it, you have to read _Goosebumps_."

"Ugh," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "Not again. Please."

"I'll go get it for you. You're welcome."

"Not happening, Weasley!"

"What's that? I can't hear you- the bell just rang!"

"What? Don't be a prat, the bell hasn't-"

The bell rings. He smirks for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hi!"

"You sound… busy."

"I've almost gotten all of the English homework done so that I can get ahead on the reading for next week. I'm nearly finished with the poster board we have to do, actually. Do you want the title to be in purple marker or blue marker?"

There's a pause during which Hermione traps the phone between her shoulder and her cheek and picks up a pair of scissors, waiting for Ron to consider.

"Do you have brown?" he says finally.

Hermione stops cutting paper immediately, shifting onto her knees and frowning at the poster board.

"Why would you want brown?"

"It's my favorite color!" he replies, immediately defensive.

"Whose favorite color is _brown_?" Hermione questions, starting to laugh.

"Whatever. You like blue. Blue is a boy's color."

Hermione wrinkles her nose.

"It's a color. It doesn't have anything to do with gender. It's just pretty."

"It's manly."

"It's not manly, you git."

"Call me an arse. I know you want to."

"Stop trying to get me to swear!" she laughs. "Mum says that twelve-year-olds are too young to swear."

"Well, of course she does. That's because she doesn't want you to do it, oh smart one."

"Ron."

"I bet she also tells you not to run with scissors, but look at all the good that comes of it!"

Hermione's laughing now. She sets down the paper that she's holding and lies down on the floor, pressing her cheek into the hardwood.

"Idiot," she whispers fondly.

"Also," Ron says, encouraged by her words, "one day I am going to get you to eat raw cookie dough."

"No chance, Weasley."

"It's going to happen!" he insists. "Just you wait."

"Just you wait, Henry Higgins!" quotes Hermione.

Ron pauses.

"Who?"

She sits up immediately.

"You don't know who Henry Higgins is?"

"Is he your imaginary friend?"

"Oh, shut up. No, he's from _My Fair Lady, _Ron."

"The movie is called 'My Fair Lady, Ron'? That's an awfully masculine name for a fair lady, you know."

"You and your masculinity today."

"All day, every day."

"So how are things at home?" Hermione asks, changing the subject quickly. "Are you hiding in the closet to make this phone call again?"

"Ah, no," Ron says. "I have luckily gotten my phone privileges back."

"Good," says Hermione softly. "That ought to teach you not to sneak down to the kitchen and eat pie at midnight."

"Best midnight of my life," Ron says seriously, and Hermione closes her eyes so that she can properly picture him patting his stomach happily. Spending so much time around one, single person allows her just enough time to learn every little detail about him, and Hermione doesn't think that she's ever grown so close to another person as she has to Ron.

When she thinks of him, he is warm and soft; all nose and limbs and eyes that are supposed to be harsh in their blueness but are actually the most welcoming part of him. They melt her, each and every time she looks at her best friend.

She is in love with the idea of what they are; of what they have. Having never experienced closeness quite like this, Hermione thinks that she could spend a lifetime becoming accustomed to it. They've known each other for less than a year, and she knows for a fact that Ron's life has become irrevocably entwined with her own.

And it's them against everyone else, in the life that they share together, teasingly and comfortably. Just the two of them. Nobody else with them against the world.

* * *

Summer in France means less time with Ron, and even though they've been preparing themselves for it, Hermione still has trouble getting used to not seeing him every day. She walks down the streets and sees tall, redheaded men and it's as though she has walked through a sheet of nostalgia, encasing her and bubbling around her. Its grip tightens whenever she sees boys with gangly limbs and people with long noses. She _misses _Ron. Doesn't want to think about what might happen if they're in a different class next year. Hermione is going to be thirteen years old in September, and the idea of spending her first year as a teenager without Ron by her side seems like an impossibility.

The first thing she does upon getting back is phone Ron. They agree to meet at the cinema which is between their houses. Luckily, they don't live too far from each other. Their houses are in walking distance, albeit a long, unpleasant walk. Still, Hermione changes into a tank top and plaits her hair and throws on some cutoff shorts and convinces herself to make the long, boring trek to the movie cinema. All to see Ron. He makes all of it worthwhile.

Hermione pretends not to mind the way the sun beats down on her shoulders, turning them lobster red as she pushes down the street, squeezing past anybody who gets in her way. She's grateful for the lithe frame that allows her to maneuver crowds easily, even though she doesn't see many people until she reaches the cinema. As she stands across the street, Hermione looks for Ron underneath the white marquee sign, trying to spot fiery hair among the hordes of people. When she does see him, her heart begins beating faster in her throat.

He's taller, and sunburned, and he has more freckles than she's ever seen on him, and she can't stop the smile that erupts when she sees him. A part of her hates him for looking differently than he had before Hermione left, but then there's another part of her that thinks it's okay because Hermione knows that she looks different too. It's only been a few months, but she feels older. Different.

Suddenly, she wonders if Ron does too. If she's about to walk towards a boy who is not the same boy that she had known last year, before they had gone to vacation. Panic heightens and climbs as Hermione stares at the boy, who has his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes on his feet. She's just about to reach full insanity when Ron looks up, searching across the street for her. And he sees her almost immediately, lifting his hand to wave to her as a large grin stretches across his lips.

It only takes a few heartbeats before Hermione has rushed across the street and into his welcoming embrace.

"Hi," she says, murmuring the words into his dark blue t-shirt. He smells like sweat, which probably means that he walked here too, but Hermione doesn't really care. She's just glad to see him. She hopes that she'll _stay _glad.

"Hi," Ron says, shoving her back quickly, unable to remain in an embrace for longer than a few moments. Hermione rolls her eyes but still smiles at him as she crosses her arms over her chest. "How was France?"

"Boring," admits Hermione. "We went last year too. How was your summer?"

"Home is always quiet," Ron shrugs. "You know how it is. No siblings, no noise. Just… nothing. Ever."

"I know." She's spent her entire life as an only child, as has Ron. It's one of the things that they had bonded over when their friendship was just beginning. Trying to comfort him, Hermione tugs playfully on Ron's sleeve. "Hey. What film do you want to see?"

He raises a hand to shield his eyes, scouring the movie posters for a title. Then, shrugging, Ron looks back down at Hermione.

"I'm not really interested in anything that's playing right now," he says, but she knows that he's lying because, after he says it, he scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth. "Do you wanna… I dunno… go get ice cream. And talk?"

She ignores the way her heart starts to beat a bit faster because she does _not _fancy her best friend.

"I would love to," says Hermione, hooking her arm around Ron's. He looks down in surprise. By the time his eyes are back on hers, he's beaming. "Do you have a place in mind?"

"Yeah!" Ron says, brightening. "Me and mum and dad went to this place last month and it was amazing."

"Lead the way," she says. "And- _Ron!" _He leaps back just in time to avoid a car that is rapidly driving around a bend. "Watch out for cars," Hermione finishes weakly.

* * *

When Hermione had thought of growing up, she had never thought of her teenage years. Her mind had always, unfathomably, skipped past that. While she had spent most of her childhood thinking about what it would be like to be an adult with a law career- really using her intellect to help people- Hermione had never thought about the nuances of what she would do to get there.

Her life had always felt like a straight-shot. Wake up, go to school. Move up a level. Continue with school. Do more school. And, suddenly, she would be a high-class lawyer who had magically learned how to walk in heels and wear skirt suits. That's the goal. That's the _dream_. Not the life that Hermione's mother had built for herself, quiet and dedicated to family. Hermione doesn't want to give up anything for a marriage. She just wants to do things. Her father would call her a career woman, but that just makes her glow with pride. It sounds about right to Hermione.

Looking past the actual concept of becoming a "career woman," Hermione hadn't paid much attention to where she would be during her teen years aside from school. And now that she is thirteen years old, she's beginning to discover that she should have done more research.

"Can we just _go_?"

Ron is lying diagonally on top of her bed, flipping through one of the books that she has read a million times. He's only half paying attention to the words, and Hermione has had to berate him a few times for being too careless with the well-loved pages of the novel.

"I'm not ready yet," she insists, glaring at the mirror. "Every other girl in our year can put on eyeliner, you know!" she says snappily. "Why can't I?"

"Maybe because it doesn't matter?"

"Don't you remember what our Peer Mentor said?"

They're in the same Peer Mentor group, which means that, once a month, they sit next to each other in nearly identical plastic chairs and watch the eldest students in the school stand up at the front of the room and give mini-lectures about school. Normally, Hermione pays special attention while they tell her things that she already knows. Ron will spend the fifty minute block trying to divert her attention from the lecture by poking her side or tugging on her hair. But today, they had been talking about their Psychology course, and how it was _scientifically proven _that women who are more attractive get better jobs.

"She said something about working hard and getting good grades in order to get into university."

"No! She said that statistics show that females who are more attractive garner more successful careers. And despite the fact that correlation doesn't necessarily determine causation, let's be real, Ron Weasley. Human beings are shallow."

Hermione knows that Ron doesn't deserve to suffer from her discovery that she has to be pretty in order to be successful, but he's the one that's been suffering from the backlash. She's been poking at her eye with a black eye pencil for the better part of an hour, trying to draw a line that is both visible and doesn't make her look like a hooker.

"You're pretty," Ron says, but he sounds less like he's saying it to her and more like he's saying it to appease her. "And, besides, we're kids. We don't have to worry about getting jobs yet. You have time to figure out how to apply eyeliner. Time that could be spent when we are not on our way to a party." Hermione wrinkles her nose from where she stands at her dresser, an action that Ron catches immediately. "I know you don't like parties, but there are other people in the world aside from you and me, you know."

Hermione has to laugh at that. They have acquaintances, the two of them, and they're all in this one, small group together. But even though they've had a small friend group during this school year, it's still always been Ron and Hermione. They've been closer to each other than they've been to anyone else, and Hermione knows that it will always be that way.

She likes their group; it's a bunch of students coming together like mis-matched socks, all scrambled up in the drawer. Hermione and Ron have found their pairs in each other, despite the fact that they're made of different colors.

"I recognize that, Ron. Thanks."

"Just checking. Sometimes you get so caught up in reading that you start referring to us as the March Sisters."

"Your sense of humor just gets better every day, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I think so."

"Mhm."

Hermione turns around triumphantly, holding her eye pencil in the air. Ron is still staring at his book, so she clears her throat a few times, trying to get him to pay attention to her. He looks up and immediately starts to laugh.

"Oh, jeez," he says, and his voice cracks oddly, as it has been doing quite a lot lately. "Hermione. Wash your face and let's go."

She snatches up her hand mirror and begins scrutinizing herself in the reflection.

"It's not that bad!"

"Stop lying to yourself. It's unattractive."

She groans loudly before throwing the eye pencil at his head and flouncing out of the room to wet a washcloth.

"I'll be right back," she calls down the hall. "Eye makeup can't be _that _hard to clean off."

* * *

Ron takes advantage of Hermione's second line way too much.

It's almost midnight when her phone rings, and even as her hands instinctively dive for the phone, Hermione recognizes that she is definitely not awake enough to have a conversation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows that it is Ron, and this is why she is able to answer her call with a simple, "Mrrmmphh?"

The response is not words, but a loud, prolonged giggle.

"Were you asleep?"

"Mm hmm."

"Sorry! Sorry, Hermione."

"What's wrong, Ron?" she asked, dragging her head out of the fog of sleep. She forces her eyes open wider, trying to immerse herself in actuality instead of the universe that she had been thrust into in the dream that she'd been having.

"I drank coffee."

"This morning?"

"No. At eight o'clock at night."

Hermione claps a hand dramatically over her forehead.

"Ugh, you idiot. You know you can't have caffeine after seven."

"I was thirsty and we ran out of apple juice."

"Ever hear of _water_?"

"You know, you've gotten mean in your old age."

"We're both thirteen! And get to the point Weasley!" Hermione growls, momentarily forgetting that her parents are asleep down the hall and her mother is an unfortunately light sleeper.

"Will you talk to me until I fall asleep?"

It's rare that Hermione can't detect a teasing note in Ron's voice. He's always saying something that he finds to be funny or clever, and he takes pride in that. There's a constant note of satisfaction in his voice when he speaks, deriving from the pride he feels at making jokes. But tonight, he's speaking rawly to her, and it makes Hermione ache.

"Yes," she says simply. "I will."

"Thanks."

His voice is rough and low.

"So," Hermione says brusquely, finally feeling awake. She flips over in her bed so that she can face her window and bends her arm, supporting her head on her closed fist. For a moment, she stares at the waning moon and listens to the sound of Ron's breathing. "Did anything weird happen in school today?"

Weird stuff has definitely started happening to Hermione. Like, she misses Ron when he's not there. She's starting to think that there's some sort of elegance in Ron's rag-tag nose. And sometimes, when he smiles at her, she feels a twinge in her stomach, despite the fact that his mouth is usually full when he does it.

"Nah," he says. "Mrs. W. made me redo my clay frog like six times, though."

"I told you not to take art."

"It's _April_. You have to stop reminding me of this. Haven't I suffered enough?"

"No. Never."

"Besides, you just hate art because you can't memorize anything."

"This _is _true," she laughs, ducking her head in agreement.

"We had assembly during that period; I didn't take it today. Why?"

"There was a question about whether Pocahontas died of smallpox or a broken heart and I wasn't sure which to go with."

"Smallpox, obviously."

"Yeah, but two weeks ago Mr. Parson had _a broken heart _circled three times on his board. I think that's a pretty big hint of the answer he's looking for."

"He also asked whether he or Charlemagne was taller on a test. I'm not sure if his history tests are entirely credible."

"Eh. Say what you will about the man, but I'm pretty sure my last words will be _March 15th, 44BC._"

"I wouldn't worry about that quite yet. You're young still."

"Oh no, I meant last words on the phone tonight."

"..."

"..."

"You totally set me up for that, didn't you?"

"I absolutely did."

"I can hang up on you, you know."

"You can. But you won't."

"And why's that?"

"Mostly because I am a riveting conversationalist. And also because, now that I've woken you up, there's no way that you're going to be able to get back to sleep."

He's right. She hates him.

* * *

Hermione throws the door open before Ron can even knock. His fist is in midair when Hermione appears in the doorway, eyes bright with excitement. She's decked out for Christmas, short of wrapping holly around herself. In a deep maroon sweater, knitted for her by Ron's mum last Christmas, and a simple gray skirt, Hermione actually _feels _like Christmas. Which is good. Last Christmas, she hadn't felt like Christmas at all, and she's determined not to experience that again.

Frankly, it had been depressing.

"Merry Christmas!" she says, rushing to hug Ron. He rolls his eyes as she stands on her tip-toes and winds her arms around his neck.

"Just because it's Christmas, doesn't mean we have to get all affectionate," he says, patting her on the back twice. Hermione holds on until Ron sighs and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into a bear hug that lifts her feet off of the ground. "Fine. Are you happy?" he mutters in her ear.

"Very!" Hermione says cheerily, pulling out of their hug. "Don't be so grumpy. It doesn't suit you."

"You would be grumpy too if you were wearing a matching jumper with your best friend." He widens his eyes pointedly at her, and Hermione's gaze drops to Ron's own attire: a maroon knitted jumper. She giggles, then covers her hand with her mouth when she sees how serious his expression is.

"I _am _wearing a matching jumper with my-"

"Exactly!" Ron states, pushing past Hermione so that he can come into her home. He closes the door behind himself and toes off his shoes on the designated mat. Hermione tries not to laugh at the hole in his knitted sock. Everything Ron wears seems to be knitted, but Hermione thinks that's wonderful. Her mother would never put so much effort into keeping her warm. It's easier to simply tug out a credit card and send Hermione off into the world.

"Well, I think we look _smashing_," Hermione says patiently, grabbing Ron's index finger so that he'll follow her into the living room instead of straight to the kitchen. "First, we have to hang the ornaments on the tree."

She expects him to ask her why she's not doing this with her family, but he remains silent. Perhaps he's learned that her father is never not at work and her mother is never truly available for anything. Or perhaps he wants to decorate too much to actually say anything. Regardless, Hermione is grateful. She hands Ron an ornament and tells him to start placing them on the tree while she turns on the Christmas music.

Neither of them are much for singing, but by the time the front of the tree is decorated, both of them have given up on any sort of pretense and propriety. It starts with a mere swaying, back and forth to the music on the radio. At some point, Hermione starts mouthing the words to the songs. Some time later, Ron begins to hum. And by the time the radio has played "Baby It's Cold Outside" twice, they have become comfortable enough to do a full rendition of the song around Hermione's living room. She plays the girl, Ron plays the guy, and they actually _laugh _through the off-key singing and terrible acting. Ron is a bit better than Hermione, who is self proclaimed tone deaf, but he doesn't seem to mind, and she doesn't either. The entire routine cumulates in Ron plopping a giant star on top of Hermione's Christmas tree before the two of them collapse against the couch, laughing hysterically.

When she's with him, she feels like a kid. Hermione loves that.

"I think you have earned the brownies now," she jokes, jabbing Ron in the side with her elbow.

He raises an eyebrow.

"There were brownies all this time and you didn't tell me?"

Shaking her head, Hermione gets off of the couch and offers a hand to Ron.

"Nope. We have to make them ourselves."

"Are you sure they don't just magically appear on their own?"

Hermione snorts.

"Yes, I'm reasonably certain."

"Alright. Lead the way."

She had been planning on putting Ron in charge of stirring and taste testing, but seeing as he has never done anything in the kitchen, Hermione thinks that this is a good enough time to begin. After searching for the ingredients in the fridge and in different cabinets, Hermione lays them all on the counter in front of Ron and hands him the box.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks. Hermione pats him in the shoulder.

"Read. You're almost fourteen! You need to know how to bake brownies. It's a basic life skill."

He lifts an egg up between his fingers, causing Hermione to pitch forward with her open palm, already anticipating him dropping it. The egg falls gently onto her skin, and Ron laughs, startled.

"Whoa."

"You have to crack it and put it in the food," Hermione instructs. "But that's not the first thing you do. Look at the box and read the instructions. That's all it takes to make these."

Later, when they've taken the brownies out of the oven and paired them with cold milk, Ron nudges her foot with his under the table and tells her that he thinks they taste better when you make them yourself.

That's the moment she realizes that she is falling in love with him.

* * *

"So, we're going to the dance together, right?"

He asks it like it doesn't mean anything. Just squints at the substance that he is measuring into his beaker, trying to decide if he needs to pour more. When he glances up at Hermione, expecting an answer, she does her best to snap her mouth shut. As Ron's eyes trail down to the liquid that is pouring out of their beaker, Hermione realizes what she's been doing and let's out a surprised gasp.

"Um, I, uh?"

"You okay, Hermione?" Ron asks, amused, as he begins to mop up the mess that she has created.

"Yeah… um, yeah! Of course. I'm just surprised. I thought you'd take an actual girl," she says, trying to pass off her discomfort as a joke.

"Hey, Hermione. You're a girl," Ron points out. "Or did you forget?"

Hermione is aware of the fact that she is a girl. She's got breasts now, even though they're small, which is enough confirmation for her. She's just taken aback by the fact that _Ron _has noticed the fact that she's a girl. After all, they've been friends since they were eleven and it hasn't come up at all in the past three years.

"Well," Hermione says, voice sounding breathier than usual. "I would love to go to the dance with you. Thank you for asking me, Ron."

"Brilliant," he says, grin splitting his face in two. "It's gonna be a good time, I think."

"It certainly will," says Hermione flippantly, finishing off the cleaning job. "You're going to be there, and I'm going to be there, and that's good enough for me."

"Do you have any idea what we have to wear?" Ron asks, sounding a little worried for the first time. "I don't want to look weird."

"The girls are wearing dresses," Hermione says. And now that she actually has a date to go with, Hermione is definitely going to try to do something with her hair. It's not as short as she had worn it when she was younger, and now that she's growing it out, the bushiness seems to be fading slightly. Still, it's not exactly something that she wants to wear to a dance. "And you should be in a shirt and tie, mister."

"Aw, really?"

"No complaining," says Hermione shortly. She holds up her beaker when Ron opens his mouth to whine. "I have chemicals and I am not afraid to use them." He snaps his mouth shut immediately.

And she's not thinking about fantasies. She's _not_. She isn't thinking about walking down the staircase of her home and sailing right into Ron's arms. She's not thinking about her appearance hitting him like a freight train, causing him to look gobsmacked as she floats towards him. She isn't thinking about how everything in their life feels except for Ron feels clinical and sterile; a world covered in iodine and wrapped carefully in a bandage so that it won't be infected. And she just wants _more_ of him- more of the one boy who makes her see colors sprouting in places that would normally seem bleary.

But they're only fourteen years old and, frankly, she's barely allowing herself to think this way.

When she picks out her dress for the dance, Hermione does not select it for Ron. She chooses it for herself, and she is happy with the blue dress that she picks, even as she continuously reminds herself that it has nothing to do with her best friend's eyes. On the evening of the dance, she spends two hours smoothing back her hair and tells herself that she is doing it for _her_, not for stupid Ron Weasley.

Ron, who has gotten even taller in the past few months, and has started swearing more than he ever has, and who always looks over at her for approval whenever he makes a joke. He is ingrained within her- he is all of the smile lines that crinkle around Hermione's eyes. She can't be falling for him, because she has seen too many of their friends lose each other when they thought they were gaining something. This is not going to happen to her and Ron. Hermione is determined.

But then she walks slowly down the long, wooden staircase in her house, right towards him. He's standing there in his button down, which looks so strange on his lanky frame. Ron's hands still on his tie when he sees her stepping lightly down the stairs. His eyes lock on her face before flitting down her body, taking in the dress and the hair and the makeup that she had asked her mother to do for her because Hermione is fourteen years old and still cannot figure out how to do makeup. Hasn't dedicated enough time to it, either.

"You look… uh…"

Finally, someone renders Ron Weasley speechless. Hermione can't hide her grin as she stares at him, waiting for him to say something to her. He just cocks his head to the side and swipes his tongue across his bottom lip before raking his teeth over it.

"I look?" Hermione prompts before she gets too distracted by how beautiful her date is.

"You look… really, really pretty, Hermione."

They sit on the floor for most of the night, tucked into a corner while their friends dance. Most of the time, they talk quietly, and Hermione loves the fact that it is impossible for them to run out of things to say. She loves his voice, and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, and the way he moves his hands around and always turns bright red every time he nearly smacks her with them.

Only when the last song is playing are they quiet. Hermione keeps her eyes resting steadfastly on the couples swaying back and forth to the slow music, almost an arm's length apart. When she looks over at Ron to relay this amusing bit of information to him, she finds that he is staring at her, his eyes soft.

"What?" she says, smiling. "Something on my face?" He shakes his head silently, not returning her smile. "What is it, Ron?"

"Do you want to dance?"

Ron looks anxious, so Hermione decides to simply nod, stepping on her excitement as she lifts herself off of the floor. He leads her to the dance floor and gulps in a deep breath before looking around at what their classmates are doing. Carefully, Ron places his hands on Hermione's waist. She knows that he's expecting her to put her hands on his shoulders like the rest of their classmates, but Hermione can't help herself. She winds her arms around his neck and presses herself against him, inhaling the scent that has become so intrinsically attached to Ron that she cannot smell it without feeling happy.

For a moment, his hands don't cooperate. Then, he wraps them around her and tugs her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head as they sway.

"You're my best friend," Hermione murmurs into his shirt. When she feels him nodding above her, she knows that he understands what she's trying to say to him.

* * *

As soon as they discover a backroads route between the two of their houses, Hermione and Ron start spending far too much time together.

His parents don't mind. He says that he's going to do homework with Hermione, and that's why he's leaving the house so often. Ron's grades are higher than ever, so Hermione knows that they don't mind at all. And they like her. As for her parents… well, they usually don't notice that Hermione is gone. She's always been quiet. Once she puts on her soft orange hat and the matching scarf, she can slip out the door and not come home until dinner time. It's never a problem.

Besides, escaping her house means spending more time with Ron than she has since they became friends. And she likes that. Things have seemed to be heightened between the two of them since the dance last year. Hermione is pretty sure that their friends think that they're going out and had just forgotten to let them know.

It seems to Hermione that falling in love with Ron has been the most natural experience in her fifteen years of life. Every afternoon, when they meet in the grassy field between their houses, she always feels her heart quicken at the sound of his feet crunching through the leaves. But it doesn't ache in a bad way; he doesn't make her feel worse about herself. He makes her want to fall in love. He makes her think that she already has.

"It's cold today."

Ron has a nose that is red with cold, and Hermione wants to kiss it. She settles with brushing his fringe out of his eyes, close to his brown knitted hat that she made for him. He had picked out the yarn, and even though it's a little lumpy, Ron wears it every day. Hermione adores him for it. His mum had helped her make it, so seeing it on his head despite of its imperfections makes Hermione feel warm inside. She's working on a hat right now, and she's going to give it to him for Christmas next month.

"I know," Hermione says, and she laughs when her breath puffs out in the air in front of them. "Did you bring the English homework?"

"That depends. Are you going to make me read it to myself?"

"I have the same assignment tonight. I'll just read it to you."

"Brilliant," exclaims Ron, and he hops up and down twice for warmth before dropping to the grass and lying down on it. Hermione settles neatly onto the greenery and unfolds her limbs so that she is on her stomach, her head next to Ron's. "And I can do your maths homework, if you want. I got most of the answers during the lesson."

"I don't want your answers. I need to do it so I can learn the process myself," Hermione reminds him. They've talked about this before. Ron will never understand why she refuses to cheat at school when everybody else does.

"You already know it cold!" he insists, his expression indicating that he is doubting her sanity. "C'mon, Hermione. It'll save you time."

"I'm fine, thanks," she says, poking him in the ribcage. Ron grunts. "Let's read, doofus."

"Listening."

He remains quiet while she reads, and even though he's got his eyes closed, she knows that he's listening. Over time, Hermione has discovered the different ways that Ron learns the best. She can get through to him; can even go as far as to teach him subjects that are difficult for him. Hermione doesn't know how Ron would be doing in school without her, but she also doesn't need to think about it. He's got a short attention span and too much energy than is good for him, but she's learned how to help him, and he's been making excellent marks the last few years.

In the middle of the chapter, Ron digs through his bag and comes up with a large package of fish shaped crackers. Hermione starts to smile slightly, knowing what is coming. Sure enough, he produces two spoons, then gives one to her. He uses the other to dig through the bag and spoon the crackers into his mouth.

They'd done that for the first time as a joke a few years ago, and Ron had thought it was so funny that he'd simply never stopped.

She knows the ins and outs of him, and it's more than just his learning style and weird habits. She can't draw to save her life, but she thinks that she could close her eyes and make a masterpiece of Ron Weasley's face using only a piece of paper and a pencil.

"You ready to go?" Hermione asks softly. She's finished the chapter, and Ron is still nodding slightly as his mind processes what has occurred. He hasn't written anything down, but Hermione knows he'll remember it well enough tomorrow if they have a reading test.

"Yeah," he says after a beat, getting up and gathering his snack. "I'll walk you towards your house."

"Great," says Hermione warmly.

They don't need to fill every silence. Hermione keeps her mouth closed as Ron packs up his things and slings the loops on his bag over his shoulders. They trudge silently through the woods, watching the autumn sun slope down in the sky. It gives the leaves on the trees halos of fire above them, bathing the entire forest in a golden glow. And the moment is so calming, so peaceful, that Hermione just can't help herself.

"You know, you can kiss me," she says. "If you want to."

He stops in his tracks. Looks over at her. Licks his bottom lip. And she smiles, hesitantly. Hopefully.

"Yeah," he says, nodding to himself. He drops his backpack on the ground and runs a hand through his red hair, causing it to stick up in odd places. Hermione feels even more steady when she sees that. "Okay."

He walks closer to her, ducking his head slightly and looking at her shyly through his lashes. Hermione backs against one of the large trees, smiling in a manner that she hopes is encouraging and not at all nervous. She has chosen to do this. She has chosen to take this step. She doesn't want to scare him off by seeming like she regrets it. Somehow, she doesn't really think either of them are going to regret it.

Ron closes his eyes and dips his head, leaning in to Hermione. It takes just a bit too long, _just _long enough for her to panic slightly. And then his lips are on her. On her… cheek. Well, half of her cheek, anyways. The other half, of course, are on her lips. And that feels… nice. She supposes.

Pulling back, Ron studies Hermione's face carefully before bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Oh my god," he says, staring at her. She smiles weakly at him, and Ron stumbles back slightly, crashing through the leaves. "Oh my god. That was… that was… oh my god."

"Uh, Ron?" Hermione says, wincing slightly. "You… er… you missed."

His eyes widen.

"I what?"

"You missed."

"Oh god." He doesn't sound so happy anymore. Hermione remains where she is, giving him some space.

"You can try again," she says, coaxing. "It's okay. Try again."

"Right," he says, nodding resolutely. "Okay. Right."

He stands back uncertainly for a few moments. Then he narrows his eyes and rushes at her, slamming his body into hers and slamming Hermione roughly against the tree. She barely has time to take a breath before Ron's lips have covered hers, his hands on her cheeks. He doesn't move, just stays with his mouth pressed against her closed lips. When he pulls back, Hermione is glowing.

"Hi," she whispers. Ron grins.

"Hey."

He picks up his backpack and offers her his hand, threading their fingers together as he walks them towards her house.

"I'm going to have a bruise tomorrow," she tells him conversationally.

"On your lips?" he asks, frowning.

"No, idiot. From you slamming me against that tree."

"I'll be more gentle tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?"

"Well, obviously I'm going to pull you into a secluded area and kiss you."

"Oh, obviously."

"If that's okay."

She squeezes his hand. Despite the fact that Hermione isn't huge on public displays of affection, not many people will see, and she's fine with this.

"That's more than okay," she promises.

* * *

It's not actually clear when they become a couple. In the first few months of going out, Hermione decides to pretend that they've been going out since they were eleven. Whenever anyone asks, that's what she says. It's easier than actually trying to pick out a moment, because she can't just do that. It felt like they were together before they were ever together, so to say that their first kiss marks the inception of their relationship feels like a lie. But they also weren't _actually _together before they kissed.

When people ask when their relationship began, Hermione just tells them that it's been a long time coming. She doesn't rattle off the date of their first kiss. She just says that, at some point, they went to see a film and held hands, and at that point, their simple adventures together actually became dates.

If it's good enough for Ron and Hermione, it should be good enough for everyone else.

They don't announce that they're going out. Instead, they hold hands and smile too often and always mirror each other's body positions. Their friends only take so long to figure out that they're going out because they've been acting like a couple since they were twelve.

Ron says _I love you _for the first time on his birthday. It is March 1st, 1995 at 7:31 PM, and at first Hermione thinks that Ron is speaking to the cake that he is digging his fork into. When she looks up and sees him staring expectantly at her, she bursts into laughter. He waits patiently for her to stop giggling and say it back, which she does, kissing him on the lips for good measure.

She falls into him so easily that she can step away and watch him do the same. There's a part of Hermione which feels like she is standing back and watching two people merge into something important, but then he'll kiss her and she'll remember that this is _her _something important. Their something important.

And it matters too much for Hermione to remove herself from it for even a moment.

* * *

The phone rings ten minutes early.

Hermione is walking up the stairs when she hears it. Her eyes widen with alarm, and she clutches the bowl of popcorn tightly in her fist as she mad-dashes to her bedroom. Little kernels slip from the bowl and hit the floor, but Hermione doesn't pay them any mind as she skitters along the landing and swerves unsteadily into her bedroom.

"Ron?" she pants when she has the phone held to her ear.

"Hey," he says happily. "You ready."

"You're ten minutes early," Hermione points out, annoyed.

"So?"

"So… you're never early for anything."

"Hermione," says Ron impatiently. "It is Friday night. And it is almost nine. Do you know what happens on Friday night at nine?"

"Yes, dear," she says, rolling her eyes as she attempts to set the bowl of popcorn down seamlessly on her bedside table. Her parents don't know she has it in her room, but she doesn't think it's going to be a problem. They never come up here unless it's to tell her that dinner is ready, and dinner was hours ago. "_Friends_ is on."

"_Friends is on_!" Ron echoes, and Hermione thinks that she can just barely make out the sound of his fist slamming against a table to emphasize his point. "I had to call you early because all of Britain is probably calling their loved ones right now so that they, too, can watch _Friends _on the phone."

"I think you're exaggerating the effect that this TV programme has on the country," she responds, voice fond. He's silly, but she loves him.

"Sure I am," Ron says sarcastically. "And I'm also totally missing the cues about Ross and Rachel getting together. It's purely in my imagination."

"I don't see it! I think she and Joey are better suited. Their intelligence matches perfectly, doesn't it?" Hermione muses as she pulls back her bedcovers and hops in between the warm flannel sheets.

"Oh, and you think that people should only be together if they have similar intelligence levels?"

"I believe that intelligence is a huge factor in the success of relationships. You want equality. Rachel and Ross, together, would not equal equality."

"So how do you explain our relationship, then?"

She pauses in the process of lifting a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

"I… uh…"

"It's obvious that you're smarter than I am, Hermione, but according to this theory of yours, we shouldn't be together. How do you plead?"

"I plead you to stop watching old reruns of_ LA Law_."

"It's fun! You're one to talk; you want to go _into _law. What's the point of not watching all of the shows you can about it so that you have more information?"

"We don't know how accurate that show is! I could be stockpiling information on shows that have absolutely nothing to do with actual law."

"Anyways," Ron says, "You're deflecting."

"I am not!"

"I may not be the most intelligent bloke, but I get that much."

"I find you to be intelligent."

"Aw, shaddup, Hermione. You know I'm not."

"You are," she insists. "Ron, you may not have the highest marks in the year, but that doesn't mean you're unintelligent."

"Is Hermione bloody Granger telling me that I shouldn't measure my intelligence in marks? Can we get this in writing?"

"I'm being serious!" she laughs. The television in her bedroom is on mute, but the show is about to start any moment. She doesn't want him to keep making self-deprecating jokes before she can get her point across. "I love you because of the conversations we have together. We can talk about anything, Ron. You have a perspective that is totally unique to mine, and even though you don't always think everything out, you never speak in a manner that makes me roll my eyes. You aren't always thoughtful, but you always have an opinion which makes sense."

He doesn't know what to say. She can tell because the phone line is silent, and Ron is never quiet when he can help it. When Hermione closes her eyes, she can imagine the tips of his ears as a furious shade of red, practically glowing. Even though she's not with him, she wants to kiss him.

"You mean that?" he says finally, and Hermione feels warmth spread from her stomach to her toes.

"I would never be with anyone whose company I didn't enjoy," she informs him softly. "And I enjoy people who are intelligent. So, yes. I mean it."

Ron sighs contently into the receiver on his end, just as the orange couch from _Friends _appears on Hermione's screen.

"Oh, fuck yes, it's starting," he says. "You gonna sing the theme song with me this time?"

"I'll do the clapping," Hermione states. "That's _it." _

She can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, "Oh yeah. You're totally gonna sing."

* * *

If the entire structure of the universe were to collapse and the sun were to somehow be shoved in closer to Earth, Hermione is still pretty sure she would be in less pain than this fever is causing her. It's been two days of non-stop sweating and loud, agonized groaning, and her mother brushing into her bedroom, putting a cool hand on her forehead, and asking if Hermione wants soup.

_No_, Hermione does not want soup. Hermione wants ice cream. Hermione wants cold wash cloths. Hermione wants giant buckets of ice and she wants them to all be dumped on her bed. No, better yet, she wants to take a bath in them like she saw on _Little House on the Prairie _that one time.

The worst part is that she's missed three days of school. Hermione never misses school- and she's proud of that. She actually enjoys going to the building each day and making all of the other students look bad. There's a sense of pride that comes with her attendance record, and the idea of Ron at school without her is driving Hermione up the wall. She's never used the television in her bedroom as much as she's been using it these past few days, but she doesn't have enough energy to move her limbs, much less read a book and actually grasp what is going on with the plot and characters.

In short, she's bored.

Not bored enough, though, to want to hang out with her mother. Her mother, who has always seemed so outwardly perfect to Hermione, but now is beginning to seem like someone who Hermione has never wanted to be. So, as the sound of footsteps clomps up the staircase to Hermione's bedroom, she simply groans and buries her head in the pillow.

"'M fine, mum," she says. "I just need sleep and isolation. You don't want to get sick."

"Nah. I don't mind."

She hasn't heard his voice in three days, barring the garbled sound of it over the phone. Something in Hermione's stomach shifts, and she sits up abruptly, causing an entire new coughing fit. Even so, she smiles as she props herself up on her elbows.

"Ron," she murmurs. "Hi."

He grins as he kisses her on the forehead and drops a stack of papers onto her bedside table.

"This is from school for the past few days. I knew you would be going crazy without some sort of work to do."

"Ugh," she groans. "Work. Thank you for the reminder on everything I have to catch up on."

"It's not so bad," he says. "The school year is slowing down. Most of the teachers are barely giving any work."

"Exams are coming up, though!" Hermione remembers. "God, have we been learning a ton of new stuff?"

"No," Ron placates, standing back. "We haven't. And you shouldn't be worrying about that. Here." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a lollipop, then hands it to Hermione. "Mum used to give these to me when I was a kid and got sick. I called them 'sick lollipops.' I don't know if there's anything scientifical about them, but they always made me feel better."

Hermione laughs, which turns into a cough, which makes Ron rush over to her bed to hand her the lollipop.

"It also makes your throat feel better," he hints. Hermione scrambles to unwrap it as Ron studies her carefully.

"Is my mum home?" Hermione asks, understanding the look on his face.

"She let me in on her way out."

"Ah," says Hermione. "Well, I'd ask you to come cuddle, but-" Without waiting for another word, Ron peels back Hermione's covers and slides into the bed next to her. "You're going to get sick, Weasley," Hermione tells him weakly.

He doesn't reply, choosing instead to tuck the covers around the both of them and bury his face in the crook of her neck.

"Missed you," he sighs into her skin. Hermione turns over so that she is facing the wall behind them and raises her arm so that she is running her fingers through his hair behind the two of them.

"Love you," she replies tenderly.

Despite the fact that she is burning up with heat, she can't bear asking him to move away. Not after she's spent three days without him. Not after she's spent so many hours desperate to be close to him.

"I want to do this every day," Ron admits quietly. "Is that wrong? I know we're kids, but I just… I just want a life with you. I don't even care about anything else."

"Yes, you do," Hermione says immediately. "You care about the future."

He shakes his head against her.

"I don't have a perfectly mapped out future like you do, Hermione. There's nothing I want to do or have a burning ambition to be. When I picture the future, I see… you. And that's it."

"Waking up like this," she adds, feeling warm inside. "Every morning."

"Going to sleep like this."

"I want a cat."

"No, a dog."

"Both?"

"Fine, but if they fight I'm rooting for the dog."

"Okay, but we're naming them _both _after Jane Austen characters if you're going to show favoritism."

"I want to name them after-"

"Final offer on the pets."

"Fine. Darcy it is."

"Aw, you know the names of Jane Austen characters?"

"The miniseries has only been out since September and we've already watched it _twice_. That's, like, twelve hours of _Pride &amp; Prejudice_. I know Darcy's name."

"I'll make it up to you," Hermione promises, turning around so that she can sleepily nuzzle at him. He slides his hand up the back of her loose t-shirt and pulls her tighter against his body. "I'll watch… sports. Or something."

"Will you watch _LA Law _reruns?"

"Ron. No."

"I don't understand why you wouldn't-"

"Ron. _No_."

"Fine," he grumbled, turning her back over. "Go to sleep. Wench."

"Goodnight, peasant."

"Stop kissing up."

* * *

The Weasley home is Hermione's favorite place to be during the winter. She loves the way there's a fire crackling in every room; the way Mrs. Weasley's meals are all more homely than the ones Hermione's mother makes. She loves how crooked the old house is- it's small, but Mr. Weasley loves experimenting on ways to expand it, and the entire place has a strange, rag-tag sense to it that has always endeared it to Hermione. The first time she had gone to the Weasley home, she couldn't have known how important it would become to her. But now she knows that this is the home in which Ronald Bilius Weasley grew up, and there's something magical about it.

"Would you be able to make a salad, Hermione, dear?"

Hermione glances down the counter, where she spots the lettuce resting near the sink. Swiftly, she grabs the lettuce and plops it on a cutting board, then lifts a knife to begin chopping it. Mrs. Weasley offers her a cheerful smile, which Hermione returns quickly. It's easy for Hermione to move to the rhythm of the Weasley kitchen; the familiar back and forth of knives and spoons and conversation.

Ron is at the kitchen table, talking with his dad about school, and Hermione is silently listening to Mrs. Weasley as she pleasantly hums from the stove. Hermione's mother never hums, and the kitchen is always completely silent in light of that. There isn't a beat to the way she moves or the way she cooks. And every time she is here, Hermione cannot help but think that this is the type of life she wants to build with Ron. Not the life that her parents have together- this. This right here.

"Did the jumper I made you fit this year?" Mrs. Weasley asks pleasantly. Hermione nods.

"Yes, thank you! I loved the color."

"I thought that it was similar to Ron's eyes," she says fondly.

"I noticed that too!" Hermione says as she watches Mrs. Weasley move fluidly over to the pot of soup and stir it.

"Salt," she says to herself, and Hermione passes over the salt without another word. "Thank you, dear."

"Molly!" calls Mr. Weasley from the table. "Could you help me out with the fire?"

Mrs. Weasley drops the spoon.

"Keep an eye on dinner for me, Hermione," she says. "I'll be back in a moment.

The two of them leave the room together while Hermione goes to stand in front of the large pot that Mrs. Weasley has resting against the burner.

Hermione startles as two hands slide around her waist, slipping around to knot together at her stomach. She leans back and turns her head to see Ron's freckled nose looming close to her forehead. He kisses her on her temple and tugs her tighter against him.

"What?" she asks, unable to stop the smile that is tugging at her lips.

"You fit," he says simply.

"With you?"

"With… everything."

Hermione turns around, winding her arms around Ron's neck so that she can look up at him.

"What do you mean?" she asks softly.

"I dunno." He shrugs slightly. "You've fit with me since we were kids, but you also fit with my family… I mean, my parents like you, and you know where everything is in the cupboards and… and we fit." She can't stop beaming at him. Ron ducks his head to kiss her, mouth warm against hers, and that's when his parents decide to walk back into the room. Hermione flushes, pulling away from her boyfriend immediately.

"No snogging near the food, dears," requests Mrs. Weasley.

Ron groans. "Mum! You couldn't leave it alone!"

She lifts her hands in defense.

"I just don't want you canoodling over my dinner," she says teasingly.

"Fine," Ron says, his voice loud and over-exaggerated. "If that's how you want to be, mum."

Hermione tries not to laugh when he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, keeping it pointedly chaste for his mother. She nods approvingly, then allows Ron to tug on Hermione's elbow and lead her away from the stove, over to the cupboards with the plates. He hands her the plates and Hermione sets them on the table.

"You know that being with me is committing to a lifetime of grabbing things that I can't reach, right?"

"Oh yeah," he says, holding a plate slightly out of her grasp. Hermione jumps for it, then makes a grumpy face when he won't give it to her. She places her hands on her hips and purses her lips until he finally hands her the plate.

"Thank you," she says, purposefully sounding sniffy. "_Giant_."

"Shrimp," Ron snorts. Hermione chuckles, shaking her head as she lays down napkins. "Hey, you wanna go somewhere after dinner?"

She frowns.

"Where?"

"There's a playground down the street," Ron says hopefully. "I thought we could go play on the swings."

Her eyes brighten.

"I love swings!"

"I know you do."

Hermione pauses, frowning as she turns to Ron.

"Have I told you that before?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Everybody loves the swings. It's a thing."

"Some people like slides better!"

"Oh, that's total bullshit," Ron says, ducking to ignore his mother swiping at his head to chastise him for the swear. "The swings are universally more beloved."

"You're just supposing that! There isn't any scientific data that say that swings are more popular than slides!"

"Look, honey," says Mr. Weasley as he walks into the room. "They even fight like an old married couple."

"How about that," Mrs. Weasley notes drily. "It's almost as if they've known each other for five years."

Mr. Weasley frowns.

"Goodness. Have they?" The three of them nod together. "Hang on," he says, backing towards the doorway. "I'm going to go look at a calendar."

* * *

Usually, when Ron begins talking about how much he loves football, Hermione just tunes him out.

It's not that she doesn't love him, or that she doesn't feel interested in what he likes to do after school. But… it's _sports_. Sports are boring. Her friends always tell Hermione that going to the games and watching the boys play is a good time, but usually, Hermione either begs off or brings a book. For most of their time in school, Ron has been playing in pickup games or with the younger boys.

Everything changes, of course, when the school goalie breaks his arm.

The entire school obsesses over the tryouts. Hermione hadn't actually realized how important football was to the school until the entire student body buzzed with the realization that they would have to use _fresh blood_ to fill to coveted position this year. Ron says that they have a reputation to uphold, and the fact that they have to use less experienced players in order to finish out their season is going to force the school into a lower division. But if they can get the right person, it might not actually be as huge of a problem as everybody anticipates it to be.

Hermione knows that Ron wants to be that person for the school. He wants to fix all of it. But she also knows that Ron tends to succomb under pressure, and she doesn't actually know how good he really is at the sport. He often plays goalie for the team that is lower ranked, but this is different. Kids actually come to watch these games. It's a _thing _at their school, apparently.

Because it means so much to him, she dutifully follows him to the field on the day of tryouts. Worse still, she leaves her book. On purpose. Ron knows what a big deal this is, and he even smiles at her as she clutches his hand, trying to keep it from trembling too badly. She'd stopped by his house earlier in the morning, forcing some breakfast down his throat, coaxing him with kisses if need be. Now, as they walk to the field, Hermione forces him to think about the crisp day and brightly shining sun.

"Don't even think about the tryouts," she warns. "You're just going to psych yourself out."

"I might not!" he refutes. "Maybe I should-"

"No," Hermione insists, elbowing him sharply in the side and ignoring his annoyed 'ow!' "You're always at your best when you let yourself feel the moment out. When you bury yourself in the adrenaline."

"How do you know?" he says disbelievingly. "You always _read_ during my games."

"I know you," she replies. "And you should trust me, because I'm logical and you never think clearly when you're overwhelmed."

"Gee, thanks."

They make it down to the pitch just a bit too early, and Ron paces back and forth as the rest of the team arrives, along with everybody else trying out for the team.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she says gently. "I just want you to do the best you can do. I'm team Ron Weasley- always."

He kisses her cheek, and his hands are still shaky as he gives her a lopsided smile and walks towards his peers. Hermione sighs, watching him run away in his athletic shorts and a team t-shirt. He looks adorable, but she's not allowed to think that because he's playing football and she can't think about how cute he is when there's absolutely no chance of her getting him under the stands so that she can kiss him until his lips are swollen and his eyes are ravenous on her.

She sits down on the stands and watches him carefully, barely paying mind to the friends that have sat next to her. They're entertaining each other, at least, which is nice because all Hermione wants to do is observe Ron. She never gets to watch him, really, in situations with which she has nothing to do. This sport doesn't belong to her- the only thing that does is the boy who is playing it.

Ron is effusively talking to the boys despite his nerves. Instead of gathering into himself, he exudes confidence as he tells a story. As Hermione watches, all of the boys burst into laughter simultaneously, and Ron crosses his arms over his chest with a pleased look on his face. He glances up at Hermione to see if she's watching, and he grins when he finds that she is.

The boys warm up first, moving through drills that take them up and down the field. At one point, Hermione becomes fixated on the fact that Ron has leg hair.

"When did that happen?" she asks Amy, looking genuinely shocked. "God that's… that's amazing. He has _leg_ hair."

"What's the big deal with leg hair?" giggles Amy, twitching a confused eyebrow. "All guys have it."

"Yeah," Hermione nods. "But this is Ron! Ron Weasley. He used to be eleven and scrawny and awkward and now he has leg hair and a girlfriend."

"Don't forget arm hair and chest hair," Amy teases, patting her cheek playfully. "Look! Ron's going."

Hermione turns her head so quickly that she almost gets whiplash, trying to focus her full attention on her boyfriend. He's a bit sweaty from all of the running, but he's jogging in place in the goal, keeping his eyes on the ball. Hermione sees, rather than senses, his panic just as the ball sails towards him. He's _thinking_. She can see it in his eyes.

He misses.

Frustrated, Hermione bites her bottom lip.

"Shit," says Amy. "The first one, too. That sucks."

There isn't anything to do but sneeze. Hermione sneezes as loudly as she can, and the sound reaches all the way down to the field. Ron, of course, looks up to see what the disturbance is. That's when Hermione smiles at him, letting him see the enthusiasm on her face. When he beams back at her, she just nods.

It's as close to a telepathic conversation as they're going to get, but Hermione still knows that she's gotten the job done when Ron begins saving every single goal. Later on, when she backs him against the outside of the boy's changing room and kisses his lips, he asks her if she minds how sweaty he is.

And he might smell disgusting, but there's nothing as sexy as the confidence he exudes when he walks off of the field as the new goalie for the school's football team.

* * *

"You realize that we never actually go on real dates?" Hermione teases. They're lying on the floor of Ron's bedroom, Hermione on her back, Ron on his stomach. His hands are splayed out across her stomach, his lips close to her ear, and she likes that she can hear him breathe quietly next to her, panting slightly. Hermione isn't really sure where his shirt is, and she's not sure where her shirt is, either, but she _is _sure that she is more content than she's ever been.

"We do too," Ron says. He frowns, propping his chin up on his elbow. "We… um…"

"We um _what_?" Hermione questions, sitting up so that she can move in closer to him. Ron's eyes begin to drift shut as she tilts her head to the side.

"Um… we… do things."

Hermione shakes her head, her lips grazing his slightly.

"We do absolutely nothing. We lie on floors, we go on walks, we do homework, and we eat dinner with your parents. I mean, as much as I love your parents..."

"Let's not talk about my parents right now," he suggests as he fills the space between them, capturing her bottom lip. He pulls back, frowning. "Wow. We really don't go on dates."

"Nope."

"I think we're just lazy."

"That's probably true."

He flips onto his back, inviting Hermione to roll on top of him. She hovers over him briefly before sighing and lowering her mouth to his. They kiss quietly, pressing their torsos together, enjoying the quiet breaths that come with being together like this. Hermione knows that they're going to have to pull away at some point, and she's not sure which one of them will be the one to do it, but one of them always does.

As her lips drift from Ron's lips to his neck, she is surprised to hear him start talking, breaking them away from the moment.

"So do you want to go on a date?"

"You have a shirtless girl about to give you a hickey and you're asking her on a date?"

"We could get dinner," Ron suggests, rolling them over. "Go to the cinema. You know. Do normal stuff that actual people do on dates, rather than people who have been best friends since they were eleven."

"That sounds nice," admits Hermione, closing her eyes as Ron shifts to kiss her neck and shoulder. "God, actually being seen in _public _together. How new."

"Shaddup," he laughs against her, stopping the kissing so that he can frown comically at her. Hermione tips her head back to laugh against the wood floor on Ron's bedroom.

"This is so uncomfortable," she complains. "How did we end up on the floor?"

"I have a twin sized bed," he says, kissing his way down her sternum and heading in the direction of her stomach. Hermione bites her lip. "The floor, according to you, is the only sensible solution."

"Speaking of sensible," Hermione says breathily. "We have to talk."

Ron stops in his tracks.

"Well, that's never good."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione swats at his arm.

"It's nothing bad. Well, I don't think it's something bad. It's just something that we need to talk about."

"Fine," he says, "But if we are, you're going to have to cover up. Your boobs are staring at me."

She glances down at her simple purple bra.

"Are they, now?"

"From my point of view, they are _always _staring."

Hermione takes the shirt that he hands her and tugs it over her head, then crosses her legs. He follows suit, pressing his knees against hers, nudging them with his bare foot.

"So," Hermione says, and for the first time, she feels nervous. She picks at a loose thread on her shirt until Ron covers her hand with his, stopping her fingers. Hermione looks up at him, trying to find the calm within his eyes. He smiles encouragingly and flips her hand over, trailing a finger across the deep indents in her palm.

"Just talk to me," Ron coaxes. "It's not going to be that bad."

"Alright then," Hermione says, and then she sucks in a small breath before speaking. "I think we need to talk about when we're going to have sex."

Ron's eyes bug out of his head.

"Erm… can you excuse me?" he asks, starting to stand up.

"What?" Hermione frowns, concerned. "Ron, you can't just leave in the middle of an _adult _conversation."

"No, I can," he says, stumbling back towards the door. "I need to go get a drink of water so I can spit it out."

Hermione's nostrils flare as she contemplates attacking her idiot boyfriend.

"Ronald Weasley, you get back here right now!" she commands. "Sit on this floor and talk about sex like a gentleman or we are never going to be having sex at all. Ever. Is that clear?"

"What about when we get married?" he mumbles as he sits on the floor. "Are we going to consummate it, or are we just going to live in celibacy for-"

"_Ron_."

"I'm just saying, stop making idle threats. We all know you're going to cave at some point."

"RON!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

"You're not sorry," she laughs.

"I'm not, but I think it makes you feel better when I say that I am."

"Just… behave for a bit, okay?"

"I will," he says, and this time, Hermione knows that he is actually being sincere.

"Right," she says. "So… we're nearly seventeen, and I just think that we should figure this out. I'm surprised it took us this long to talk about, actually."

"I'm not," Ron says truthfully, looking up from her palm. "Do you know how awkward this is?"

"I do. I'm sitting right here."

"Just checking to make sure that I'm not the only one."

"You're not," Hermione says. "I just… I think we should talk about it so that we're ready."

"Ready for sex?"

"Exactly. I mean, we're home alone right now and theoretically we could just go ahead and get it over with-"

"Gee, thanks."

"-But I also think that we need to be more informed first."

"More… more informed?"

From the way he's looking at her, she knows that he knows exactly what she's done. And she knows that he's not happy about it. Hermione just shrugs and leans over so that she can grab the strap of her bag and drag it over to the two of them. She reaches inside and pulls out four books, handing two of them to Ron.

"I thought we could just do some research and make sure this is something we're totally prepared for. So, then, next time we're in a situation where we're alone at home and we feel like snogging, we know what the other person is prepared for. We'll be on even footing."

"Is this what it feels like to communicate with your partner?" Ron asks. Hermione nods. "Hermione, love, this is _terrible_."

"Read," she says, pointing to the book.

"Now?"

"Now."

"But-"

"I'll read with you!" she says, standing up and walking over to his bed. She sits with her back leaning against the wall and her knees propped up close to her chin. "I promise it'll be fun."

"Stop making promises you can't keep," warns Ron, but he follows her onto the bed anyways, choosing to lie on top of her feet, just to annoy her.

Hermione lets her eyes swivel back and forth steadily, not allowing the content to deter her. If they're going to do something like this, she's going to face it with maturity. She loves him, and she wants to have sex with him. But she also hates being unprepared, and she hates the idea of Ron being unprepared as well. She has a feeling that this book is truly going to tell him how to handle the situation, and hopefully, he will be able to do so with grace.

"This is stupid."

Or not.

"It's not stupid!"

"Yeah, it is. Everybody knows this stuff. It's just guy talk."

Hermione scoffs.

"Oh, is it now?" She snatches the book out of his hands and peruses the page for a moment. "Right. So it's common knowledge that you're supposed to give your female partner an orgasm before engaging in intercourse because the effects of the orgasm contribute to relaxation and increase lubrication?"

He nods emphatically.

"Duh, Hermione! Every bloke knows that."

She snaps the book shut, eyes on fire. There's no way that Ron knows all of this. He's never been with another girl, and while some of their friends have already started having sex, Hermione hasn't exactly briefed them on the details, choosing to keep the entire experience as private as possible. She cannot imagine a single situation in which Ron would ask his friends something like this.

"So how are you planning on doing it, then?" she asks.

Ron jerks his head back, watching her suspiciously.

"What exactly are you asking of me?"

She knows that he's trying to get her to back down and she's _not _going to do it. Just because they're in his house, on his bed, doesn't mean this isn't her turf. What's his is hers, and what's hers is his, and this is basically _her _bed so she gets to act however she wants to on it.

"I'm asking how you're planning on… you _know_… so that I'll be more relaxed when we have sex."

A slow smirk starts to spread all the way across Ron's face, and that's when Hermione realizes that this was a terrible, terrible idea.

"That's the thought that keeps me up at night, actually," he says, taking the book from her hand and tossing it to the floor. He surges forward, straddling her hips so that he can crash his lips against hers and wind his hand into her hair. "I think it's quite a problem," he adds, his words smushed against her lips.

"Mmm, a problem? How so?"

He swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and tries to nudge inside of her mouth, but Hermione pulls away from him, staring at him expectantly.

"What?"

"How is it going to be a problem?"

She can actually see him considering this; see the cogs and chains whirling to life in his head.

"Well," he says, "because we need practice."

"Practice?" echoes Hermione.

Ron nods emphatically.

"I have to be very proficient about it by the time we actually have sex, don't I?" he says.

Her eyes widen.

"So if we practiced, it would be… preparation." Hermione says, and Ron just wiggles his eyebrows. "We would be more prepared?"

"Absolutely."

"I do think that it's really important to be prepared."

He's already kissing her again.

"Mhm. Me too."

For a while after that, there isn't a lot of speaking. Hermione closes her eyes and wills herself to _trust. _It's a blessing, really, that she loves Ron as much as she does, because she can't imagine ever liking anyone enough to let him do this. She can't imagine believing in anyone this much. But if she breathes deeply enough and blocks out everything but the feeling of soft strands between her fingers, everything is okay.

_More _than okay.

He sits up with the biggest grin on his face, looking so proud of himself that Hermione can't help but feel proud too. And when she breathlessly comments that she thinks they'll be okay with or without the preassigned readings, Ron just grins harder.

"Can't learn that in books, can you, Hermione?" he says, moving in to kiss her.

And she really loves books, but she loves Ron Weasley more.

* * *

They laugh their way through the first time.

It's not special or important, even though it _is _important to them. Hermione's parents are going away for two days, and she doesn't bother to heed their warning of "don't have a boy over." Ron isn't a boy. Ron is Ron, and she doesn't care, anyways.

It's easier to be together in her Queen sized bed, and neither of them feel like they should be doing this, but they do it anyways. She knees him once and elbows him more than once, and his hands are shaking so hard that he can't rip the condom wrapper open. But then Hermione runs a hand through his hair and brings it down to cup his cheek. Ron leans into it and she reminds him of the time that they watched _The Princess Bride _and he said "as you wish" to her every single time she asked for something. He reminds her of the year she forgot Valentine's Day, whispering it against her skin. And she relays the story of their first meeting, of how mesmerizing his eyes had been to her, and of how she has never gotten over how much she loves them.

She clutches onto his hand so hard that her nails create moons in his skin, but he doesn't complain, just kisses her closed eyelids and asks her if he can move.

When he cleans her off, the act feels as intimate as what they've just done. Hermione doesn't think she'll ever regret the fact that they didn't do this at a hotel or on a sunny day. Afterwards, when she sits on the kitchen counter in Ron's t-shirt and watches him make her pancakes in only his red plaid pajama bottoms, she is thankful even for the rain that pitters lightly at the windows of her childhood home.

One day, they're going to live together. They're going to have this all the time.

But for now, she gets to drag him back upstairs and remind him that they have an entire weekend to get better at being together.

* * *

"Guess what?"

It's two o'clock in the morning, and Hermione takes the bait.

"What?" she whispers, pressing the phone harder against her ear. Maybe, if it's close enough, it can feel like he's lying in bed next to her, dropping feather-light kisses across her skin.

"I wish I were with you right now."

"That's not surprising," she says, laughing quietly.

"But, guess what?"

"What?" Hermione repeats.

"I keep thinking about how easy it would be to sneak out and see you."

"I've turned you into a total sap," Hermione realizes. "What have I done to stubborn, obstinate Ron Weasley? Isn't he supposed to be unable to admit the extent to which he adores me?"

"That hasn't been much of a problem," he says. "You realize that I'm the soppier one of the two of us, right?"

"That's not true!"

He releases a soft "_pfft" _in her ear.

"I love you, but if one of us is going to forget our anniversary, it's you."

"What! No! I'll have it in my calendar."

"But you'll be so busy studying or working that it will slip your mind, and I'll have to remind you that it's our anniversary just to _see_ you."

Hermione pauses.

"I want to see you."

"Er… what?"

"Right now. I want to see you right now."

"What are you talking about? It's 2 AM."

"And you said you missed me. So don't you want to see me?"

His voice is warm when he answers, "Yeah. I do."

"Meet me on my doorstep and we'll walk to the playground," Hermione says shortly. "See you in a few?"

"See you in a few," Ron echoes.

The first thing Hermione does is brush her teeth. She slips out of her sleep pants and into jeans and a warm Weasley jumper, which she covers with a coat and scarf. By the time she's got her knitted cap on, all she has to do is slip down the stairs. But as she passes her parents' room, she can hear the loud snoring of her father and knows that both of them are out cold for the evening.

It's almost freeing to flee down the last few steps and quietly slide the door open. Ron is standing right outside of it, and Hermione has to stop herself from releasing a relieved giggle at the sight of him there, covered in an array of knitted wear.

"Honey, I'm home," he says as Hermione closes the door, ensuring that it is unlocked so that she can get back inside.

"And how lovely it is to see your face, sweetheart," she demures, winking quickly before shaking the facade off of her face and rolling her eyes. "I don't know if nicknames suit us."

"I think we can do whatever we want to do," he replies, taking her hand in his. "And I also think you're overdressed. It's _April_."

"I am not overdressed," protests Hermione as they begin to walk towards the playground. "It's the middle of the night and it is cold."

"Sure," he says. "So. Are you ready for uni, girlfriend o' mine?"

Hermione blinks.

"What kind of question of that? Of course I am."

"You were born ready, were you?"

"Mhm."

"No angst _whatsoever _about leaving your parents and the life you knew… far, far behind? In the dust? Bleeding on the cold, hard ground?"

"I do not feel any trepidation," Hermione reiterates in a hard voice. She softens a moment later. "Mostly because you're going to be so close to me."

He laughs, a surprised sound that fills the air between them.

"Me?"

"You're my security blanket," she murmurs, fondness in her voice.

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Mmm. Me neither, but I think we're going to have to go with it because I'm not willing to give you up anytime soon."

"I'm a habit you just can't quit."

"I'm not even trying," she laughs. "I love you too much to try to quit you."

She's heard, from a few people, that the two of them should try to see other people. But Hermione has never paid any mind to it; never bothered to consider _not _being with Ron. At first, she had become overwhelmed at the idea that she was doing the wrong thing. And the fix had been so easy: see other people. But then, Hermione had become overwhelmed by another idea. Leaving her childhood best friend behind so that she can experiment with other boys doesn't seem, to Hermione, like the better solution.

Now, when people ask her if she's going to try being with someone else before settling on Ron, Hermione just shrugs and smiles. "All I've ever wanted it Ron," she replies. He's all she's ever _going _to want, as well.

The playground is deserted at this time of night, so Hermione immediately makes her way to the swings. Ron takes his place behind her, places his hands on the small of her back, and begins to push her. She kicks her legs, closes her eyes against the wind, and breathes in the air, wondering if it starts to taste sweeter the closer she gets to the stars.

Her hair has gotten longer over the years, and now it brushes against her back as she floats noiselessly through the air. She feels like a child again, but nobody ever pushed her on the swings when she was a little girl, so Hermione doesn't know how to express the exuberance that is bubbling up through her. She stifles it, swallowing it all the way down, because this is her boyfriend pushing her, not her father, and she is eighteen years old. Childhood is absent from her life; it lingers only in the moments between sleeping and waking, and when she hears songs that she used to love as a little girl, and when she tilts her head to the side, closes her eyes, and wills herself to dream the way she used to be able to.

"How ya doin' up there?" Ron calls. She breathes out steadily.

"Come join me," she says decisively. "It's lonely up here."

Hermione pumps her legs extra emphatically to prove to Ron that he can stop pushing her. He slips onto a swing and pushes off, hard, from the ground. He releases a loud, joyful _whoop _into the air, which makes Hermione laugh quietly.

"Oi, you!" Ron shouts, even though there isn't an reason to shout. But the playground is in an isolated area, and there's nobody to disturb aside from the wind that is whistling playfully through their ears. "Make some noise."

Anxiety immediately begins to creep up in Hermione's stomach. She tilts her head to the side, asking him why.

"To whose benefit?"

"Your own," he replies, amused. "C'mon, Hermione. Let loose."

"I'm loose enough, thank you."

"I just think… well. You know what you want better than I do."

He shrugs one shoulder, and now he's matched her in height and they're soaring through the air together. And, hell, if Ron Weasley thinks that it would do Hermione some good to yell, she's going to yell.

The screech that rips through the air is filled with joy, and it makes both of them laugh, exalted, and more alive than ever, Hermione thinks.

They slow down eventually, and then it's just a rhythmic back and forth, the high-pitched singing of the wind replaced by softly creaking swings. Hermione looks over at Ron.

"You never told me how you feel about uni," she points out. "Are you glad that you're going?"

He frowns, suddenly less weightless.

"I'm… worried, Hermione."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what I want to do with my life."

"I don't think you have to at this point," she admits. "I think a huge part of uni is the experience."

"Not for people like you."

"People like me?"

"People who know where they're going in life. You've always had a path, and that's amazing, but sometimes it makes me feel like even more of a fuckup."

"You're not a fuckup," Hermione says immediately, her voice sharp. "I'm a weirdo."

Her heart sinks at the idea that any aspect of her personality has made Ron feel lesser. In truth, she feels like the sun and moon both rise in his wake, despite the fact that all of scientific knowledge refutes that concept.

"You aren't a weirdo," he argues. "God, Hermione, I wish I was like you. I have all these things about me that make me who I am, but none of them seem to add up into a career."

"So," she says, "We'll figure it out. Who are you? What do you like? What are your strengths?"

He quirks an eyebrow, amused.

"Are you asking?"

"I am, actually."

"I like sports. Playing them, talking about them."

"Mhm."

"And I like arguing."

She grins.

"I've noticed."

"I like… making people laugh."

"And you're very good at it."

"None of that adds up into a career."

Hermione wrinkles her nose.

"Ron, do I have to do everything?" she teases, sighing dramatically.

"Know-it-all," he shoots back. "Okay, tell me. What course am I taking?"

"All of the things you said somehow connected to _talking_. You want to talk for a living? You want to argue? You want to make people laugh? You want to share your opinions? That's what writers do, and journalists, and newscasters, and commentators. Take a course in communications or journalism, then figure out what you're going to do from there."

"And you're just going to tell me what to do?"

She gets off of the swing, stumbling slightly on her unsteady legs. The world seems to be spinning, so Hermione clutches onto Ron's hand to steady herself until she falls into the grass. He follows, plopping right next to her.

"You don't have to listen to me," she says. "But I'm right, for the record."

"You always are."

He doesn't sound upset. Just entwines their fingers together, lies down on the grass, and places their conjoined hands on his stomach. They move up and down with his steady breaths, and Hermione times her breathing so that it perfectly matches his. He's silent for a while, to the point that Hermione has to turn to him and make sure he's still awake. Ron blinks at her, smiling lazily.

She likes the way the moon plays with his face, using his nose to create a shadow, but Hermione doesn't say anything about it. She knows he's self-conscious about his nose, and she can kiss it a million times, but he won't ever believe it's beautiful.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispers.

"Sex," he replies immediately. "Don't even bother asking anymore. I'm _always _thinking about sex."

She groans, hitting her head back against the short grass.

"Now _I'm _thinking about sex."

"Cheers," he says, winking at her. "We can be in misery together."

"We're not doing it in the grass," Hermione says preemptively.

"What if-"

"No."

"But maybe if I-"

"Ron. I love you. No."

"Fine."

* * *

University is better than even Hermione had thought it would be. She is in her element as she spends her time on campus, sitting at the front of every class, and making friends with people who are just as geeky as she is. There's something unbelievably satisfying about not being the odd one out anymore. Hermione may not be the uncontested top of the class anymore, but she's also surrounded by more competition than she's ever been in, and she thrives in it.

There's just one problem. Finding time with Ron feels nearly impossible when she's working so hard to keep up with the workload. They instant message constantly, but it's not like they live together, or even live on the same campus, and he's definitely further away than he had been when they were growing up. Hermione had thought that going to university near him would strengthen their relationship, but the truth is, they've had more time together over Christmas break than they had while they were at school.

Well, now that they've got an entire term under their belts, Hermione is determined to take control over every aspect of her life. She's going to focus on uni _and _be the perfect girlfriend to Ron Weasley. There isn't any reason why those two things have to be mutually exclusive, right?

"Is your boyfriend coming over again?"

Hermione looks around at the neat side of her room, trying to understand what might have given it away to her friend.

"Um… yes?" she replies. "How did you know?"

"You barged into my dorm room and are now using my makeup."

"Right."

"Also, you're wearing an actual bra," says Chelsea smoothly. "Rather than a sports bra."

Hermione snorts.

"I even shaved my legs. Crazy."

"So what are you two _crazy _kids doing tonight?"

"We're going out," Hermione tells her. "He says that he's taking me to a nice restaurant and everything."

"How long have you been together?"

"Six years, ish? But we've known each other for nine."

"Yeah. You're getting proposed to," nods Chelsea.

"What?" Hermione laughs. "No, I'm most certainly not."

"Ron is one-hundred percent proposing to you tonight. If he never takes you out to restaurants and now he's taking you, there's one singular explanation for that."

"We're nineteen," Hermione reminds her, still trying to laugh it off, despite the pit of anxiety that is filling her stomach. "It's too soon to get married."

"Six years isn't too soon. I mean, either that or he's breaking up with you."

"Not a chance," says Hermione firmly. That, she knows. There's no way either of them would risk what they have for a petty breakup. It means too much to both of them.

Still, as she gets ready for the night, she can't help but feel shaken by something that she can't explain. God, what if Ron _is_ proposing to her? What if he wants to get married while they're still teenagers? Hermione wants to spend her life with him, but the idea of having a ring and making it official when she's this young seems ridiculous. There are so many things that she wants to do before she gets married- before she's forced to turn into her mother.

_No_, she reminds herself gently, _you are not going to turn into your mother._ That's another whole thing, and she's not going to worry about it tonight. She has different emotional issues to deal with. After she slides into her soft red dress and begins to fight the good fight with her hair, Hermione's eyes search the desk for her eyeliner. She finds it and puts it on easily, beaming proudly at herself when she removes her hand.

It only took her about three million years to figure out how to apply eyeliner without looking like a raccoon. And she knows that hard work equals success, not attractiveness, but on the off-chance that psychology does reign true, Hermione wants to make sure she has the upper-hand over makeup.

A knock on the dorm room door startles both of them. Hermione opens it with two quick strides, then immediately finds herself swept up into Ron's arms, one hand pressing against the small of her back, the other hand on her cheek. He kisses her in a way that makes her embarrassed to have a roommate, but she returns it with an equal fervor that has them both slightly flushed when they pull back.

"Wow," she says, knocking her forehead gently against his. "You should miss me more often."

"I think that's counterproductive," he says, voice low. "But I have the car waiting outside, so can I miss you a bit more in there?"

Hermione grabs a hair elastic from her desk and shows it to him.

"Sure. I have my quick fix in case you miss me a bit too much."

"Hey, Hermione?" Chelsea says from her bed across the room. "Please leave."

"Going," Ron replies, saluting her. "Seeya, Chelsea."

"Bye, Weasley," the other girl replies.

They hold hands as they stroll down to Ron's borrowed car, and he opens the door for her before he hops in, which makes Hermione giggle.

And then she starts to think. What if he actually _is _proposing? What if that's why he's making such a big deal out of tonight? He's wearing a nice jacket and everything! That doesn't mean he wants to marry her, though. Well, he wants to marry her. Just not now.

"I'm not ready to get married yet," Hermione blurts out quickly. Ron slams his foot against the brake, and Hermione instinctively screams, checking behind them to make sure there isn't anyone there.

"What the fuck, Hermione?" he demands once he's started breathing again. "What, what, _what_?"

"Chelsea said that you were taking me out for dinner to propose," Hermione says. "And there's a car coming, so you should drive."

Ron slowly places his foot back on the accelerator, still breathing hard from the surprise.

"Why would I be proposing?" he asks, continuing their conversation. "We're nineteen."

"That's what I said!"

"I just wanted to take you out to celebrate, actually."

"Celebrate what?"

He glances over at her, grinning.

"I got a position on the newspaper at school."

Hermione's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wanted to do sports, but that position is being covered. Most of them are, actually, except the person that was doing polysci got an internship with a major law firm and had to drop out. So… I figured that I'm an opinionated bloke, and I could try to take over for the slot. Maybe I'll like it. And, if not, at least I'm practicing writing and learning to have a voice, which is what my creative writing professor said is going to be my biggest strength when it comes to writing."

"I'm so proud of you, Ron," Hermione says genuinely, settling back in the seat. "And… er… it's not like I _never_ want to get married."

He raises his eyebrows, eyes still focused on the road.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I do want to marry you someday. You know, just… later."

"Mid-twenties work on your calendar?" he cracks.

"I'll see if I can squeeze it in."

"We could do a long engagement," Ron suggests. "Propose in the early twenties and then not get married until we're halfway to thirty. I like the idea of you walking around with my ring on your finger."

"So, where are we going for dinner?"

"The place that my dad proposed to mum at."

"Are you…?"

"Joking."

"Does it have creme brulee, though?" Hermione asks as he flicks on his indicator just a bit too late and swerves too fast around the corner. She resists the urge to slap him on the arm for his poor decision-making skills, but decides against it. "That's the most important question to be asking right now."

"I don't think you'll be disappointed in the menu," Ron informs her. "And that's all I'm going to say about that."

* * *

She's never cared for getting drunk on New Year's Eve, but everybody else seems to like the idea, and for some reason, her boyfriend does too.

"We never go to parties," Ron reminds her. "We stay in and watch _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ until we fall asleep."

"I never hear you complaining about _Buffy_," Hermione shoots back, frowning at her phone where it rests on her bed. "You're the one that got me into _Buffy _in the first place."

"Okay, I'm not exactly complaining about _Buffy_," Ron acquises. "I'm just.. saying. You know. It's one night of the year, why not go out and have some fun?"

"Wait a second…" Hermione says, comprehension dawning on her. "This isn't about _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_!"

"Er- it's not?"

"This isn't about _Buffy _at all!"

"I'm pretty sure it is."

She ignores him.

"You're buying into the hype, Ronald Weasley!"

"I am not! How dare you even-? The nerve of… what hype?"

"You think that the world is going to end in 2000," Hermione says disbelievingly. "Were you also going to suggest that we go out, get married, and have unprotected sex?"

"Hermione- wha… I said I wanted to go to a party, not that I wanted you to get knocked up!"

"The world is not going to end, Ron," she says patiently. "It's just a bunch of crazy people believing that it is. There's no scientific proof."

"Yeah? Well, there's no scientific proof that the world's _not _going to end either."

"Oh for the love of-"

"Besides," Ron continues, "I don't think it hurts to be doing something fun on the off-chance that the world _does _end. You were supposed to turn twenty in 2000. We should either be celebrating that or mourning it."

"Are you going to be sobbing at midnight? Should I find someone else to kiss?"

"Don't you fucking dare! How could you deny us of our last kiss?"

She bangs her head against a wall.

"Okay. I'm giving you an out. Tell me that you're kidding _right now _and my respect for you will be completely restored."

"Nope. I've been in the newsroom all day, working on an article about this. The research is pretty interesting, and they've got me sold."

"You write politics…"

"Nobody exactly knew where to categorize the world ending, so they decided to give this piece to me and told me to go crazy. I put a comedic spin on it."

Hermione laughs.

"Of course you did."

"So."

"So?"

"Are we getting drunk on New Year's Eve or what?"

"You can get drunk. I'll watch and laugh at you."

"Hermione! I don't want to be drunk without you."

"Well, I'm afraid you're shit out of luck, dear."

He's silent for a few moments.

"Can I propose an addendum?"

"You are welcome to, yes," she says coolly.

"We stay in, drink wine, and get minorly tipsy while watching _Buffy The Vampire Slayer._"

Hermione smiles.

"Are you sure you want to give up your drunk party?"

"S'not fun without you anyways."

"Okay then. I'll buy the wine."

"And I'll supply the 'It's the end of the world and all I have is this stupid t-shirt' t-shirts."

"Mmm, great call. That doesn't sound tacky at all."

"Hey, that rhymed!"

"I'm hanging up now."

"You'll regret this at the end of the world, Hermione Granger."

"Goodbye, love. Talk to you later tonight."

* * *

Their flat is small, but Hermione already loves it. She loves it despite the fact that the previous occupants left red wine stains on the ground, and despite the fact that the window in their bathroom won't ever completely close, which she knows will give the room a cold draft when winter comes. Even though the flat is imperfect, when she looks at her boxes next to Ron's boxes, she can't help but dream.

They're going to put their clothes right next to each other in the master bedroom, and their toothbrushes in the same holder. They'll be using Hermione's childhood mattress but with a brand new duvet that they had bought together, and the pictures that line the walls will be of both of their families, not just one. Ron picked out the couch and Hermione picked out the throw pillows and everything about this is so _together _that it makes her ache. It makes her think of the future- their future- and suddenly Hermione wants time to speed up and slow down simultaneously. This is perfect, but it could also be better, but it is also utter and complete and absolute perfection.

When she tells Ron this, he laughs and kisses her on the nose and tells her that he loves her, his crazy girl. And that makes her smile, even as she hits him on the arm with a throw pillow.

They don't have the energy to move the mattress all the way to the bedroom yet, though, and so Hermione makes the bed on the floor of their living room, gently tugging an afghan crocheted by Mrs. Weasley over the sheets. She can't find the box with their duvet, so this will have to do.

"Good enough?" Hermione asks when Ron emerges from the bathroom. His pajamas are on, slung low on his hips, and he's wearing a t-shirt from their old school. It makes nostalgia crawl into Hermione's stomach, but as he leans down to kiss her, she lets the feeling seep into her. Just for tonight.

"More than good enough," he says sweetly. "Besides," Ron adds, pulling back the afghan. "I'm so knackered, I could probably sleep on a park bench right now and still be totally out."

"Don't worry," Hermione says, starting to root through some of their boxes. She cheers in triumph when she finds a shirt to change into for sleeping. "I already have my earplugs."

"Oi!"

"Oh, nose down, you. I may have to deal with a lifetime of your snoring, but I don't have to pretend to like it."

He opens his mouth to protest, but then Hermione pulls her shirt over her head and takes off her bra. Ron's mouth snaps shut immediately. She turns her back on him so that she can smirk while she puts on her pajama top, replaces her jean-shorts with sleep ones, and then makes her way into the bathroom.

The August air is hot, so Hermione plaits her hair back before she spots her toothbrush right next to Ron's and picks it up. He's left the toothpaste out for her, which she appreciates, and somewhere between squeezing the toothpaste onto the bristles and putting the toothbrush in her mouth, Hermione starts to feel giddy. This is their _life _now.

"Hey, you." She smiles at him through a mouth full of toothpaste. "So… I was going to wait until your birthday next month to do this, but… we just moved into our first flat together, and I don't want to wait anymore." Hermione can't do anything but stare at him quizzically, as her mouth is still full. She waits.

And as she waits, Ron sinks onto one knee.

"Hermione," he says, staring up at her, "You are my best friend in the world. You have been since I was eleven years old. The idea of ever loving someone as much as I love you used to be… unbelievable. I've seen the way my parents love each other, and I always thought that I understood what love was, but being with you all these years… it's taken on a whole new meaning, Hermione. You are the first _everything_. And the last. The first person I think of in the morning and the first person I want to talk to when I get news that makes me excited. The last person I want to see at night and the last person I want to ever be in love with." He pulls out a ring box, and as Hermione stares at the small diamond nestled inside of it, she can't help but think that there is toothpaste on her chin. _Seriously_. Her boyfriend is proposing and she has toothpaste. On her chin. "Hermione Granger. Will you marry me?"

She is kind enough to spit out her toothpaste before she attacks him with kisses.

* * *

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Hermione glances up to see a tall young man standing in front of her. He's carrying a stack of books and is gesturing to the seat next to her, in spite of the fact that there are several open seats all around the classroom. She's not one to be impolite, so she nods, even though she finds it odd. She's never seen this man before. Has she had a class with him? He looks to be her age, but she doesn't recall seeing him around campus before. Perhaps he's a transfer.

"Go ahead," she says as he sits down. "Are you new this year?"

"Yeah," he says nervously. "Bit odd to transfer this late in the game, but I wanted to get a degree from this school."

"Oh," Hermione replies. "Yes, we have a very good name here. Are you interested in doing your masters here as well?"

He shrugs.

"No, not really. I have my future covered already."

Hermione doesn't know what to say to that. If he has his future figured out, why would he have transferred universities for his last year? Despite her burgeoning curiosity, she changes the subject quickly.

"How was the move?" she asks politely. "Some of the stairs in these buildings can be so inconvenient."

"Good!" says the boy, brightening. "Yeah, good. Getting the couch up to my floor was nearly impossible, but I got it done eventually."

"Oh, I can empathize with that," Hermione admits. "My fiance and I moved into an apartment together last year. The _entire _time we were going up the stairs with the couch, he thought it would be funny to scream 'PIVOT' like Ross in that episode of _Friends_ where he buys a new couch. I could barely move for laughing, and the guys that were helping us couldn't either. It took twice the time."

The man laughs, his smile spreading all the way across his face. He has bags of exhaustion under his eyes, but he seems happy to be sitting next to Hermione. There's something content in the way he just stares at her, drinking her face in.

Normally, this type of behavior would make Hermione back off, but he's not looking at her like he has a thing for her. He just seems to want someone to talk to, and Hermione can't blame him. It can get lonely for transfers on a campus this large. He must be very anxious about his new life here.

"Your fiance sounds like a funny guy," he says.

"He's the funniest," Hermione divulges warmly. "He's working for a local magazine, writing political satire. I'm very proud of him."

"You must be," says the man. "He seems like he's a very special guy.."

"He is." She pauses for a moment. "Oh, I don't think I introduced myself! I'm Hermione Granger."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," he says, already extending a hand to shake hers. "I'm Harry Potter."

* * *

Ever since they moved in to the flat, Ron has been doing most of the cooking. But when he comes home from the newspaper office that day, Hermione watches him drop his messenger bag on the floor with a look of shock on his face. She's standing in front of the stove with her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, barefooted and wearing jeans and the v-necked plum colored sweater that her mum had gotten her for Christmas. And she's holding a spatula.

"Science experiment?" is his first question, which makes Hermione narrow her eyes and stick her tongue out at him.

"Not a science experiment," she says pointedly. "I'm cooking."

"You're cooking?" She accepts his kiss hello, then watches as he bends over the pan that is sizzling on the stove, his hand on her lower back. "Why are you cooking?"

"We're having a guest over tonight," Hermione informs him happily.

"That bloke from your history lecture?"

"The very same."

"What was his name again? Henry?"

"Harry," Hermione corrects. "Harry Potter."

"Right," Ron says, closing his eyes as though he's solidifying it in his memory. "Got it."

"I think you two are going to get along swimmingly," Hermione says as Ron reaches into the cabinets to begin grabbing plates for the table. "He needs to laugh more."

"Will I be up to the task?"

"Oh, I think you're good," Hermione chuckles. "But it's nice to see how humble you've become in your old age."

"Oh, yeah. I'm the humblest," he teases as he passes her to reach into the fridge. "Is Harry Potter a beer drinker or a wine drinker?"

"I don't know," shrugs Hermione. "You're going to have to wing it."

Ron pops his beer bottle open and lifts it to his lips, affording Hermione a brief moment to enjoy his neck and Adam's apple. But then there's a knock on the door, and she has to pull her eyes away from her fiance before she ravishes him. Sighing emphatically in Ron's direction, she settles with squeezing his arse before she passes him to get the door.

"Harry!" She smiles widely as she opens the door to him. "You found us okay?"

"Yeah, I found you fine. It was-" he stops suddenly, and Hermione frowns until she realizes that Ron has entered the room behind her. "Er… you must be Ron," he says, eyes crinkling slightly as he awkwardly smiles.

"Yep," says Ron, wrapping an arm casually around Hermione's shoulders. "Welcome, mate."

Harry sticks his hand out robotically.

"I'm Harry," he says. "Thanks for having me."

Hermione opens the door wider, allowing Harry to enter the flat.

"Sit right on the couch," she says. "Dinner is almost ready. Would you like some wine, or a beer?"

"Beer's good," Harry replies, taking his seat in one of their armchairs. He perches himself awkwardly on the edge, like he isn't sure if he should be there. Hermione and Ron enter a moment later, both of them choosing to sit next to each other on the couch. She holds her red wine steady as she plops next to her fiance, wrapping her cold hand around his arm for warmth. For a moment, her engagement ring catches the light, and Hermione feels inexplicably, perfectly happy as she stares at the diamond.

"So… how long have you been engaged for?" Harry inquires, his eyes staring at something just behind their heads.

"Since last August," Hermione says. "A little less than a year and a half, but we decided to enjoy a long engagement, so it should be a while still."

"Oh, that's… I'm sorry, I hate to ask, but… what is that behind you?"

Hermione turns around at the exact same time as Ron does.

When she's facing front again, her entire life has changed.

"Harry," she whispers, her eyes wide. "Oh my god. Harry."

"Hi, guys," he says, smiling meekly. "It's good to see you again."

Ron stares at his best friend, his blue eyes drinking in his features. Hermione, however, begins to panic almost immediately.

"_Harry_," she cries out, springing up and off of the couch. "Please. Stop doing this. You have to stop doing this."

"So we're just going right into it?" Ron says blandly, following her up. Hermione doesn't take her eyes off of Harry as she struggles to find Ron's hand. She grabs it and squeezes.

"I can't," Harry says, his voice breaking as he stands up. "Hermione, I can't. I need you guys to come back to me- to us. We can't keep living without you. You're our family."

At the mention of family, Ron winces. Hermione moves closer to him, protecting him.

"You're going to have to," Hermione says, jutting out her chin. "Because we aren't coming back, Harry. We have a life now."

"Please," he begs. "It took me two years to find you guys this time. Two years. If you keep hiding yourselves all over again, I'm not going to be able to find you and reverse the obliviation spell."

"We didn't ask you to find us," Hermione reminds him, her voice becoming icy. "We never asked for you to chase us."

"But Ron came back to us, and I am always going to come back to you. You guys are my best friends."

"I'm sorry," Ron whispers. "God, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Hermione murmurs to him. "It's not, Ron. Don't blame yourself."

"You're doing this for me!" he yells, and Hermione casts an angry glare at Harry. "You're isolating yourself from the wizarding world for _me_. Because I couldn't handle it anymore."

"It's not your fault that Fred died," Hermione says, turning him to face her so that she can caress his face. "It's not your fault that you had to kill people."

"It's my fault that I couldn't handle it," he says emptily.

Harry is watching them, his shoulders slumped, his arms falling limply at his sides. Hermione cannot help but be aware of him. Standing in their _living room_, of all places.

"You've had time away," he says quietly. "You don't need to live these… these half lives anymore, Hermione. He can heal himself. He can survive now. Don't you hate living with all of these false memories swimming in your head? They're all too happy… too nice. You even created false parents for yourself, Hermione, so that you could leave yours in Australia. How is any of this healthy?"

"It doesn't have to be healthy," she snaps at him. "It has to make us happy."

And she is happy. She's never been as happy as she is when she's with Ron.

But they've also never truly been together as the real Ron and Hermione, and Hermione is all too aware of that.

"I'm going to take him into the other room for a minute," Hermione says, voice harsh. "And if we come back as the people we used to be, I will _thank you_ to let us live the way we want to live. Is that clear?"

Harry nods numbly, and even though she knows that he's going to be back for them in a few years- that Harry James Potter never would let anything like this lie- she doesn't say anything else to him.

"Ginny sends her love," he mutters as Hermione moves to close the door to hers and Ron's bedroom.

Hermione turns towards him, suddenly feeling shy as she looks at the man to whom she is engaged. He seats himself on their bed and places his head in his hands. As she leans on the door, Hermione watches the unsteady rhythm of his back moving up and down with his quiet breaths.

"So," she says, scratching at the wood lightly with her fingertips. She's just trying to release some anxious energy, but the sound makes Ron wince. "Hi…"

He takes his head out of his hands long enough to drink in her face, his eyes moving back and forth as he soaks her in.

"Hi, Hermione," he replies, and somehow, she thinks that he's saying her name different. That this feels different.

"We're getting married," Hermione says, tears welling up in her eyes. She doesn't want to know why her heart feels so heavy. She just wants to look at him. Ronald Bilius Weasley. The boy with dirt on his nose. The boy who broke her heart by dating Lavender Brown. The boy who broke his own heart and couldn't fix himself without her help. "You and I are getting married."

He cracks a smile, but it isn't all there.

"I'm marrying Hermione Granger," he says in return, but it feels different than all of the times the new Ron has said it.

Hermione can't help but rush up to the bed and kiss him, surprising him. He kisses her back ravenously, and she realizes that they haven't done much of this together- not this Hermione. Not that Ron.

"We've never even had sex as ourselves," she realizes, pulling away and leaning her forehead on his. "We've only ever been together as new Ron and new Hermione."

"Fuck," he replies as the implications of that hits him. "I never thought about it like that."

Hermione turns around slowly, sitting on the bed next to him and lying on her back, her knees at the bottom of the bed. She stretches out her legs and sees that, even like this, they will never be a match for Ron's.

"We've been good to each other," she muses. "We've made each other happy."

"All the decisions we made after we were eighteen were our own, right?"

"Right."

"Yeah. We've done well."

"But we're also so different," she says, and this time, she doesn't sound happy. "Our personalities aren't the same because of the different circumstances of our upbringing."

"Maybe that's better," Ron comments. "I actually feel like I'm worth something in this universe."

"You are worth something in every possible universe," Hermione says tenderly. "And I would love you in every possible universe as well."

He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing one tear to spill from his eyes and slip down his nose.

Hermione loves his nose.

"I love you too," he says. "But loving you is different in both universes. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," she says, glad that she's not the only one who feels this way. "I love you so much in both, but… the intensity is different. Not necessarily less or more, just… different."

"I know," he says. "God, I know. I hate it."

"Do you want to stay this time?"

"Stay?"

"With our memories? We can still live the same lives. Just with Harry, and with Ginny, and George, and Fr- uh. I…"

They're silent for a few moments. On the bed next to her, Ron begins shaking. Hermione rolls onto her stomach so that she can hover above him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, where he's beginning to sweat.

"Shhh, Ron, shhhh. It's okay. It's okay, love. Do you remember our first kiss? Tell me the story of our first kiss."

Ron pauses, eyes searching her face.

"I know what you're doing," he says.

"And is it okay with you? Do you want this?"

He nods, his breath catching.

"W-we were in the room of requirement. And I started panicking because there was a war going on and the house elves were in danger, and I didn't want them to have to die for a selfish cause." He closes his eyes, living in the memory, and Hermione slides off of the bed to the hollow book that she had cast a confundus charm on before she had gone under for the first time. She opens it. Pulls out her wand. Creeps back over to Ron, hoping that she won't disturb him when she crawls, on her knees, to his side.

"That's good, Ron," she says coaxingly. "Keep telling the story. Keep talking to me. I love you."

"I wrapped my arms around you and kissed you so, so hard, and I lifted you right off the ground, and in that moment, I thought that everything was going to be okay. I had been in love with you since I was fourteen, and I was finally showing you how I felt about you. How much you meant to me. And you were retuning that kiss- I knew that it wasn't one-sided. I knew that I would never be alone again. I knew-"

He stops abruptly, and his eyes fly open before fluttering closed once more.

"I know," murmurs Hermione. "Me too."

She kisses him on the nose, then the lips, before allowing a choked sob to emit from her mouth. Clapping a hand over her mouth, Hermione directs her wand to her own temple. Silent tears fall to her tongue, but she doesn't need to say anything after that. She is heavily, painfully aware of what she is giving up.

She forgets what she's leaving behind even as she loses it.

* * *

They meet for the first time on the way to school, and Hermione feels like her world has changed.

_Fin._

* * *

**A/N: Hello, Romione fandom! It's been so long and I miss you all so much. I hope that you don't hate me too much for the end of this fic… but once the idea came to me, I couldn't let it slide by! This fic drove me **_**insane **_**because I thought it would be much shorter than it actually was, but I've ended up loving it. I understand that there are probably a lot of questions, given the end, so feel free to find me on tumblr. I'm Rongasm over there, and I'd be happy to talk to you so long as you are not belligerent. **

**Special thanks go out to Ashley (sass-is-the-new-class on tumblr) for a spectacular beta job. She's been cleaning up my messes forever and I hope she never stops! Another thanks to Hannah (ananbeth on tumblr) for doctoring up a million of my mistakes, especially the ones involving cultural differences. Ashley and Hannah: You two are the greatest. You knew how important this fic was to me and you treated it with the same care as I did. Thank you so much for that. **

**Hope to see you again soon, Romione shippers! ~writergirl8**


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